Like Crazy
by omnia16
Summary: "He had believed that she was there because she wanted him, but when he had woken the next morning she was gone." M for safety, adult topics, because Peeta Mellark simply isn't pure. Picks up after The Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't the first time he regretted; no.

She had been sweet, caring, everything he wanted her to be. He had believed that she was there because she wanted him, but when he had woken the next morning she was gone.

He sees her in town, buying sweets; he wonders if that was why she fled this morning. He approaches her, a large smile lighting his face as he calls out her name.

Her head whips around, her braid flying behind her. When her gaze falls on him she flees.  
He's left staring after her, just like he's always done.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, and I do not profit from this in any way. I'm not sure what else to say...**


	2. Chapter 2

He catches her just as she sneaks in with the twilight.

"Why did you leave?" he asks her. She looks away, at the door, the woods, anything but him.

Her voice is quiet, and he almost misses her response.

"I didn't know how to fix it."

His breath catches in his throat, his blue eyes widen. Her gray eyes look at him piercingly; she doesn't flinch away.

"I didn't know how to fix my mistake, Peeta," she tells him, and at the sadness in her eyes he can feel tears. But he can't let her see them.

So he runs.


	3. Chapter 3

She comes by later, face wet and eyes haunted by her nightmares. He can't refuse her when she's like this; how can he?

She talks of the dream, which is unusual. The horrors of their Hunger Games are vivid in her mind, as in his. She looks broken, lost, when she whispers for him.

Her lips easily find his in the dark, and he's reminded of the cave, the lies, and wants to push her away. But he's weak, unable to deny her, and she knows it.

"I'm sorry," she whispers after.

He doesn't look at her as she leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

She comes at night, she leaves at dawn.

He suffers all day.

The nightmares plague him during the day, but never at night. She offers some comfort with her soft kisses, but she hurts him in sunlight.

He sees her laughing one day with Gale as the "cousins" (why can't it be true?) walk to the school. He watches from the bakery door, watching how her gray eyes dance with a light they never seem to with him, how her laugh is melodious and free.

He burns three batches of cheese buns.

He just can't seem to get them right.


	5. Chapter 5

It's one of the few times she approaches him during the day.

He's sitting in the market square, watching as the merchants walk by as they live their lives. That's his problem, he thinks. He doesn't know how to live his life anymore.

"Can I sit here?" she asks, standing in front of him and blocking the sun. He squints at her, noting how the gold sunlight gives her a sort of halo. _His angel._

"Sure," he says quietly, and she does. He stares at nothing, oblivious of the tears on his cheeks.

Her small hand gently wraps around his.


	6. Chapter 6

It's a day he doesn't feel like moving, and these days happen more often lately.

She hasn't come by in weeks.

He can't understand why he's miserable now that she's recovering— well yes, he does. He knows it's because she no longer needs him.

And that hurts.

He twists and turns in his bed, wishing he could just feel nothing instead of hurting too much. The empty liquor bottle on his nightstand reminds him of Haymitch, and his head aches. He shamefully thinks of drinking last night to erase his pain.

He only feels worse and wishes she were here.


	7. Chapter 7

He doesn't try drinking again.

He tries girls, running through Seam and Merchants alike, but none of them can make him feel _whole_. Delly catches him sneaking from someone's (Mary's?) home and she stops him, declaring his actions must stop.

He tells her he's fine, that he's doing better, and what else can she expect from him?

"Move on," she says firmly, her face too serious. He explains that's what he's doing.

"No. You're drowning, and you know it, and you're barely staying afloat. _Move on_, Peeta."

At home he picks up his phone, placing a call to the Capitol.


	8. Chapter 8

The package arrives two days later.

He doesn't hesitate to open it, and the cylinders gleam as he picks up the syringe. Instructions on handling the morphine are at the bottom of the silver suitcase, and he reads them carefully before measuring out his doses.

A knock sounds on the door, and for a second the boyish fear of his mother startles him as he shoves the case into his wall oven. He discovers it's only Haymitch.

"I noticed a package came for you, boy."

Haymitch shakes his head and Peeta fearfully realizes he's been caught.

"I'm sorry," Haymitch says.

* * *

**A/N: Just wanted to thank you all for following and reading this story. Please, let me know what you think and review. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

He blinks.

"She does care," Haymitch continues. "She's just slow about it."

He doesn't believe his mentor. "Are you going to tell anyone, Haymitch?"

"Why would I? They already know you're crazy, fucking nearly all the girls in District 12."

He looks up sharply, and asks, "Does Katniss know?"

Haymitch looks at the empty box on the counter and doesn't say anything for a long time.

"She's oblivious."

He feels disappointed and relieved. Haymitch abruptly leaves, an uneasy look on his face. Peeta finds syringe in the oven, the needle sickeningly shiny. He shakily pushes it in his arm.

Bliss.


	10. Chapter 10

Then the shame attacks him.

He's walking to the bakery the next day, still weak from the injections and the rush of the morphine. He's sees her for the first time in weeks, and she smiles at him hesitantly.

"Peeta," she says with a degree of happiness.

"Katniss," he murmurs, avoiding her gaze. He hates himself right now. But he can't deny the intense craving he has for _more_.

"How've you been?"

He looks up, angry at how he's unnoticed, how he suffers and no one _cares_, and what he's been driven to do.

He wants _more_.

"_Fine_," he lies.

* * *

**_A/N: In honor of reaching 10 (which just became 11) followers, here's an additional chapter. Review and maybe a bonus chapter will appear... if you know what I mean. (:_**


	11. Chapter 11

He finishes the suitcase in two weeks.

He hasn't left the house, abandoning his post at the bakery to lie on the couch, strung out and pleasantly numb.

When he does remember to eat it's something little, maybe a small piece of bread if he can stomach it.

All he wants, craves, needs, is the morphine.

His skin looks waxy, his cheeks hollow as dark bags hang under his eyes. But he doesn't worry about it.

He has just placed the Capitol call when the doorbell rings, but he doesn't answer it.

He can't let anyone see him like this.


	12. Chapter 12

He's done it for a month now.

"Peeta?"

The syringe slips and shatters on the floor as Haymitch's voice sounds from outside his house. The kitchen has become his place, comforting in an ironic way: he finds release where he used to find peace.

The door opens, and the familiar features sting his eyes.

"Peeta," Haymitch gasps, looking from the drug to him.

His pupils dilate, pinpoint, and he struggles to say, "Haymitch."

_"What have you done?"_

The lights seem to sway, and black rims his vision.

"Moved on," he slurs, swaying with the spinning lights.

Everything fades to black.


	13. Chapter 13

He wakes up in his bed, shivering and sweating and feeling sick.

Whatever meager food he managed to keep down rises up in his throat, and a pair of hands reach out to guide him to a trashcan.

Rubbing at his eyes, a sour taste to his mouth, he tries to focus on whoever is in his home.

"Mrs. Everdeen," he says, his voice raspy. She smiles sadly and offers soup to him, and at the hearty mixture the familiar craving arises in him.

"Eat, Peeta," she urges, a look to her blue eyes that he doesn't like.

She _knows_.


	14. Chapter 14

He declines the food, glancing around his room for the package he had stowed away.

"It's all gone, Peeta," she tells him firmly, and she reminds him so much of _her_ that it hurts; the need for the morphine is stronger than ever.

His hands shake, his whole body tremors, and he feels so out of control.

"Please," he whispers, willing to do anything. "_Please._"

He can hear Katniss laughing, hear her singing, and it's just not _real— _but the noises won't stop, she just won't _stop_—

"You're experiencing withdrawal," she explains carefully.

He doesn't care.

He blacks out again.


	15. Chapter 15

"Did you know about this?"

The voice is low, furious. Familiar.

A gruff voice answers. "I didn't know exactly— I didn't realize it had gotten this far."

"If you _knew_, why didn't you say anything?"

The voice isn't the one he wanted to hear, but does sound like hers.

"He's not a _child_. You can't just say, _don't ever do this again_."

Peeta recognizes the voice. _Haymitch_.

The short pause goes on for eternity; the other voice responds.

"She doesn't know."

"Let the boy tell her."

Peeta doesn't open his eyes— _he'll never tell her_— and soon he's out again.

* * *

**A/N: Let me know what you think and please leave me a review. The chapters will become longer soon, so sit tight. Maybe if 20 reviews magically appear... a longer chapter will surface soon. Or at least a bonus one. Yes, I am a sucker for reviews. They practically make my day. **

**Just a little incentive(:**

**Also, because the chapters are so short, I wouldn't mind posting an additional one if you guys are interested...**


	16. Chapter 16

When he wakes up it's Prim.

He doesn't say anything, hoping she'll leave. She can't see him like this.

"Peeta," she says softly. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Moved on," he repeats with more conviction than he feels. From the understanding look in her eyes he can tell she knows it's about—

"I know," is all she says.

It's silent for a while, and he closes his eyes again.

The craving is still there.

"Sometimes I wish she wasn't so _oblivious _and— and— didn't have to grow up," she mutters, and he understands, but what is there to say?

* * *

**A/N:** I've reached 20 reviews- 21 even! Yay! The **bonus** chapter is nearly complete, but today I had a migraine... then a prior committment... then a paper to write (along with a power point, mind you)... and now a research report, which I am putting off until morning. As apology I'll post two chapters.


	17. Chapter 17

It's been weeks since he's been discovered, and it's been only a few hours since he hasn't thought about the drug.

_Fuck_. A few seconds.

He doesn't know what happened to the next round he ordered. He's only started to leave his house again, tiring quickly but working short hours at the bakery.

He's even started to hang out with _Olive_, as it's her name, and he's come to appreciate her gold hair and brown eyes. He's even managed to partially convince himself he'll move on with her.

Then he sees _her_ again, and he's right back where he started.

* * *

**A/N:** Also, the bonus chapter is basically a deleted scene, kind of. Or actually, a collection. Is that okay?


	18. Chapter 18

The nightmares are worse tonight.

She's dying, her blood on his hands, and Katniss sneers at him as she takes her final breath.

_I hate you._

He doesn't care if she means it, he just wants to halt the blood that seems to flow from everywhere, but she's already dead.

He wakes up, sweating, shivering, and crying.

Sleep is impossible now; the nightmares would only become worse. Peeta stumbles from his bed and begins to aimlessly wander his empty home, wishing his mother hadn't refused to move in. She wishes for wealth— he offered his winnings, his silent home— and somehow he still isn't enough for her.

He came back from the Hunger Games.

He didn't (intentionally) kill anyone.

He _won._

Yet he still manages to disappoint his mother, a woman he's always tried to please.

His purposeless walk ends outside of a room he's avoided for a while.

* * *

**A/N:** What the heck, I am in a button happy mood. Review!


	19. Bonus

For once he's finally been left alone to wallow in his misery, as Prim abandoned her post to return to school and Mrs. Everdeen attending to fresh injuries of young miners. She demanded he take bed rest as she fed him another simple soup, and her words were loud and distorted and he would have said _anything_ to make her shut up. So Peeta nodded, choking down the hearty mixture as his body shook.

She left soon after, having been alerted of the wounded miners, and Mrs. Everdeen gave him with the promise of returning in three hours.

He waits ten minutes before he moves.

Peeta doesn't realize just how badly the morphine fucked him over until he stumbles trying to make it to the bathroom. His legs are weak, and as he slides to the cool tile of the floor he manages to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He looks like _shit_.

Maybe the morphine's changed more than just his physical appearance: he's suddenly swearing more, his thoughts just aren't the same― they're darker, meaner, more cynical than he was before.

_He's turning into Haymitch_.

The drinking.

The endless pools of misery and self-loathing.

He doesn't make it to the toilet before the thick soup makes dances up his throat.

* * *

Peeta is splayed across the white tile, too exhausted to even move to clean up the vomit. The prosthetic leg feels alien against the flesh of his real leg, and he tries desperately to make himself move. But he just _can't_.

He has no motivation, no will to move. He doesn't see the point in moving, cleaning, thinking— hell, _living_. This must be what "rock bottom" feels like. Not exactly like huge, jagged rocks that landing on will tear into his limbs, but more like smaller rocks, rocks that leave him paralyzed, unable to live fully or die, instead waiting for whatever to come and find him.

As he stares at the white ceiling, he tries to hate Katniss, really, he does.

But he thinks of her smile, laughing at something someone has told her. It's like a montage of her running over the blank ceiling, images of her laughing, frowning, singing, talking, trading, angry, suspicious— his mind is so full of her it almost hurts.

When he finally moves it's only to avoid the scenes of her on the white walls.

The couch in his television room is comfortable, and he instantly sinks as he sits on the blue leather. He needs distractions. He needs at least a few minutes where he isn't thinking, just a few, precious moments free of the noises resounding in his head.

He tries.

The craving for the morphine is strong, and he only wishes for it to stop his thoughts. But of course he's always thinking, always thinking of _her_. At least the morphine stole these thoughts, replacing them with hallucinations of happiness and colors and just things that were _easy_, not the never-ending mass of confusion that surrounds her.

He's finally managed to go four seconds with no real thoughts in his mind when the doorbell rings. That's unsual; he hardly gets any visitors.

It isn't Prim, he knows, because she should still be in school.

It can't be Mrs. Everdeen; it's only been an hour and a half since she left.

Haymitch never knocks.

His family simply doesn't visit anymore.

Shakily standing, Peeta throws off the weight of self-pity and slowly moves to the door, just making out a shadow of whoever waits on the other side of the door. He opens the door, and at first thinks the morphine still somehow lingers in his system.

His visitor made appearances there, too.

"Peeta?"

He lets her in, and out of habit his eyes dart around the room, fearfully hoping he put away the last reserves of the drug. It takes him a second to remember he doesn't have to do this anymore. The disappointment that floods him is almost shameful.

"Katniss, hello," he says awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pajama pockets to hide the shaking of his hands. She folds her arms and stares at her boots.

"How are you?" she asks quietly, and he bobs his head in response, forgetting she isn't looking at him. He risks her discovering the tremors in his hands as he runs a hand through the mess of curls on his head and rubs at his eyes.

"I've been better," he admits, and at this her head snaps up, her gray eyes staring directly into orbs of blue.

"You?" he asks stiffly, and she doesn't answer, still staring at him as if deciding if she should say what's on her mind.

"What?" he says lightly, a hint of his old charisma gracing his features again. A half-smile lights Peeta's face and he twists his hands into the fabric of his pockets. "I don't look that bad, do I?"

Katniss's lips ghost a smile, an unconscious reaction, he thinks, and Peeta notices how her face seems to change when she smiles.

"Peeta," she finally begins, her voice slow and careful, and his soft chuckles die at the serious note of her voice. Her gray eyes shift from him, resting on some point behind me that he can't see. Katniss looks nervous, her back stiff as she twists the end of her braid.

"When we came back to District 12, Prim and I were nearly inseparable."

At mention of the smallest Everdeen Peeta's heart speeds up, nervous and apprehensive of what she's about to say.

"We were nearly always together; I even tried to teach her to hunt again. But now she doesn't come home directly after school, and at first I was worried, you know?"

On some level he understands, but his heart sinks as she continues.

"So I followed her one day," Katniss says, and at this she does look at him. For once he can't decipher the look in her eyes, and this worries him. He already knows what her next words will be.

"She came here, and was here for three hours. Then my mother came, and she didn't come home until the next morning," she tells him, her eyes searching him for an answer and the tiniest bit accusatory. "What's going on, Peeta?"

He stares at her, gaping, and wonders if after months of trying to get her to notice him all it took was enlisting the help of the little girl next door. He has Katniss' attention, but from the anger in her eyes at being kept in the dark he wonders why he even wanted her to see him. Not when he can so easily imagine those eyes filled with disgust and something akin to hate…

"I told you," he finally says, avoiding her gaze now. "I've been better."

His hands are shaking so badly he wonders how she doesn't notice his pockets jerking, but she isn't really known for being observant, is she?

"Peeta?" The pleading look she's giving makes it difficult for him to resist, but he tries to anyway.

It seems all he ever does is fucking _try_.

All he ever does is _fail_.

"They were helping me, okay?" he snaps uncharacteristically, and he nearly apologizes when her eyes slightly widen in surprise at his tone.

"With what?" she persists. "Why didn't you just ask me if you needed—"

The concern in her eyes kills him; all he ever wanted was for her to see.

He wants those eyes to look at him with a different emotion, with a smile, with _love_. He wants her to finally care about him the way he is so devoted to her; he wants her to love him.

They're not even _friends_.

They've just fucked a few times, sure, but when has anything _significant_ ever been offered from her end? He's comforted her, he's loved her, he's tried to make her so fucking _happy _while he's going insane—

"Since when do you even care?" he asks, his voice sharp, and Katniss blinks at him. "When have you _ever_ cared?"

"I care," she answers quietly, and Peeta hates how he is so ready to believe her, ready to wait for her to love him. He pushes the inescapable emotion of his undying love for her from his mind; the shakes spread to nearly all of his body.

"You don't, Katniss. You don't fucking care about me, and it kills me that you don't," he says, his voice still caustic and bitter as he stares into her eyes. "It _kills_ me that you're happier with _him_, that no matter how hard I fucking _try_ I'll never be enough for you; you'll never look at me that way. You can't help in any way you are willing to, Katniss," he tells her, his blue eyes bright as anger courses through him.

"Peeta—"

"You don't understand," he says her, trying to shutter away most of the anger and instead embracing the exhaustion that follows. Peeta focuses on stilling his hands, trying to stop the jittery shaking. His fingers still twitch. "You just don't fucking _understand_."

"Please, Peeta," she tries, her voice wavering as she reaches for him. He lets her seeking fingers tentatively rest on his arm, enjoying the stolen embrace, because he knows she'll never get it. She'll never love him back.

"Morphine," Peeta says, a faint, gentle smile gracing his face as he attempts to come to terms with the harsh fact. She'll never love him.

Her face is frozen, caught in disbelief as her mouth slightly falls open at him. The thought of how adorable she looked meanly strikes Peeta.

_She'll never love him._

"I got hooked on morphine," he clarifies, shrugging, still smiling at her expression. "They were helping me recover."

She sputters; tears hesitantly sparkle in Katniss's eyes.

"What—wh—why didn't you _tell_ me?" she asks, her voice rising at the end, because she's already lost people she's cared about, and wasn't there enough death in the Hunger Games? "I can help you, Peeta."

The kind look returns to his eyes, and he gently pushes her hand from his arm. "We both know you can't," he says in a voice that's just as gentle.

The hurt look in her eyes surprises him, and he clings to her fingers. A tear threatens to trickle down her face, and Peeta sees one fall. At the wetness on her cheek Katniss sharply tugs her hand from his, and the sense of loss harshly tugs at Peeta.

"I'm sorry I'm of no help," Katniss says, turning to the door as she swipes at her face. Peeta stops her from leaving, asking a question she pauses to answer.

"Would you ever feel that way, Katniss? Would you ever feel like I do about you? Will you ever love me?"

She does turn to face him, and he notices that her eyes are still shiny. His heart pounds in anticipation of her answer, and she only offers a watery smile at first.

"We'll never know, will we?"

The answer causes a fresh blossom of hope to bloom in his chest, and maybe this is why he's loved her for so long: no matter the fact she's still so unsure, how she avoids him, confuses him, doesn't except his love— at the smallest of words of evidence of Katniss feeling something he's able to pursue her just as passionately.

But she needs time.

She needs to love him before he scares her away with his admittance of his love. He needs her.

The door slams behind her.

He doesn't chase after Katniss.

It's one of the few times Peeta Mellark has ever let Katniss Everdeen run away.

He moves to the stairs, climbing them slowly as he walks to his room. He's quickly out again, a slight smile on his face as he thinks that he finally has a chance.

When Mrs. Everdeen wakes him a few hours later, he isn't shaking at all.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm not sure what you guys were expecting… But this is the bonus chapter, which I hope you enjoyed! It's an outtake from the story, sort of; I decided it didn't exactly fit. I mean, it was a different plot, you know? And I've got other plans for this story, haha:) Also, you are maybe wondering why it's waaaaay longer than other chapters― it's a combination of several.

So yes. Appreciate. And leave a review please! When _Like Crazy_ is finished (the end isn't all that near, and I'm not sure if that will comfort you…) you'll have to tell me if you thought this chapter should have actually been a part of the story.

Which I will then have a major flip-the-table moment. Or at least a palm-to-forehead (these desks are frigging heavy).

_**Another bribe**_: maybe if I reach like, I don't know, fifty reviews (yeah, I said it. Pretty ambitious of me, no?) _another_ bonus chapter will appear, this time Katniss's POV for any chapter (up to five total, which will be around 300-500 words in length each and will be posted with a new chapter everyday) the 51st reviewer chooses. I know. That makes no sense. I thought she wanted fifty more reviews? Where the hell did this fifty-one come from? Is she freaking stupid?

No, I am not.

It's mind-boggling.

I'm not entirely sure you guys are still even reading this.

If you are, I applaud you. :)

—O


	20. Chapter 20

The empty white of the canvas whispers to him.

Peeta watches the white surface, and he can easily remember the day he ordered the painting set.

It was after their first night together, and he wanted to surprise her with paintings of her home, of her family, of Rue.

Then he couldn't find her.

So he shut the supplies away, and the room was forgotten admist the storm of his mistakes.

The drinking.

Girls.

Drugs.

His hands shake as he reaches for the containers of paint, the palette, the paintbrush. It fits into his hand perfectly, and the empty canvas suddenly isn't so empty anymore.

He doesn't think of her once while he paints.

* * *

**A/N**: Ahh! I got so many reviews for the bonus chapter! I'm so glad you enjoyed it.

**Please remember it isn't apart of the actual storyline**, but I've got this idea to post the other chapters I had made as other bonuses, you know, for every 25 reviews I get, starting after 50. I don't know. Maybe.

Well, you guys are awesome, and as thanks i'm posting two chapters today(:


	21. Chapter 21

Two weeks later he realizes painting is his new drug, offering him a safe haven and a release from the pain of his suicidal thoughts, his miserable existence. But but the high lasts even longer, it feels even stronger; painting is somehow _better_.

As practices, he paints simple things. A window. A coffeepot. Cookies. He's quickly adjusting to having better tools to hone this skill, and when he considers his first real painting finished he wants to share it with someone— _anyone_.

She isn't the first person on his mind _(finally)_.

He visits his family, even though it's his day off.

It's been awhile.

* * *

**A/N**: Special shout out to guest reviewer **rebecca**: I really hope everything works out for you, and you've definitely given me an idea for either a new fanfiction or a more in depth look at this one. Thank You, and thanks to all my reviewers!


	22. Chapter 22

It's after a particularly bad night that he realizesmaybe painting can _help_.

It's the first time he paints scenes from the Hunger Games.

The view of trees from ground level, high grasses and rocks near a stream come alive on the canvas. He can feel the stickiness of the mud, he can feel the ache in his leg, his mind swimming in and out of consciousness—

Peeta stumbles on his prosthetic leg as he makes to rush from the painting room, the taste of bile rising in his throat.

He barely makes it to the bathroom in time.


	23. Chapter 23

After that first painting they've become easier to paint.

A patch of berries, the green so close to the nightlock bush.

The glittering Cornucopia.

The bloodstained grass.

Trackerjackers.

And her.

Of course, paintings of _her_. Katniss lounging by the cave entrance; holding her bow and arrow gracefully; smiling as she speaks of Prim; desperately looking to him for some comfort; eyes closed as she rests in a pool of blood.

Even one of her with the little girl who died— Rue.

But the painting he loves most is of her and a small— _his_— child, laughing and happy and _free_.


	24. Chapter 24

He's still waiting for that day to come.

That day he'll suddenly wake up and realize she isn't worth it, that his love for her was only an inane childhood infatuation. That she isn't _special_.

But every day he walks the streets of District 12, works the bakery, sees her, politely trades with her, and it still hasn't happened yet.

He still watches her leave until she disappears from his sight.

He still loves her.

Maybe he always will.

The seasons slip.

Spring shifts to summer.

Summer drifts to fall.

Fall brings changes.

Fall brings Katniss.

Fall brings a _beginning_.


	25. Chapter 25

He's walking home with Olive one day after school, and again she's thanking him for starting to attend school again.

There's no real point for him to be there, and he only goes when he feels like it. It's nice, almost. This pointless life he leads now is a curse in the disguise of a blessing.

She smiles at him, and he copies her smile. Her soft, pale hand is wrapped in his, and unconsciously he thinks of more calloused fingers entwined in his.

That was fake, he tells himself. Lies.

But this, whatever "this" is with Olive, is _real_.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! And receiver of bribe: reviewer **Chelzie**!


	26. Chapter 26

They're just passing the sweet shop, laughing merrily, when it just happens.

He looks in the large window, loving the displays of candy ever since his first piece when he was six, and he sees Katniss staring back through the glass. She lifts her hand in a wave, a tentative smile gracing her face, and Peeta realizes this is it— this is when she'll finally extend friendship— maybe more— and he'll _know_, he'll finally fucking _know_, and he won't have to wait around anymore.

She takes a step towards the door, and he start to also.

Something holds him back.


	27. Chapter 27

Olive's hand is wrapped securely in his.

She hasn't moved from her spot, focusing on calling to her friend across the street. At the sharp tug she turns back to him, annoyed curiosity on her pretty face.

"Peeta?"

And he remembers that he hasn't been waiting around this whole time for Katniss to finally admit she feels _something._ From the way Katniss' eyes suddenly dart between him and Olive and widen marginally, he knows she's realized it too.

His hand is still tangled with Olive's when Katniss disappears from view, ducking behind a large display of peppermints.

"Peeta?" Olive asks again, using her other hand to tuck a curl behind his ear.

He shuts his eyes briefly, before giving her a transparent smile. Olive warmly returns the smile, before asking if he wants to stay over for a bit, because she has the whole house to herself for a few hours.

Peeta declines, and almost as a reflex thinks of Katniss. His mind easily paints her dark skin, her gray eyes, and the scowl she wears right before she smiles. His mind is always filled with pictures of her. Peeta shakes his head, offering an excuse of having to help out at the bakery today to cover for Brett, his oldest brother.

She looks disappointed for a moment, but easily recovers, brightly chattering about her circle of Merchant friends. Of course he knows them, and he lets her words fade out, instead focusing on the hazy tune of her voice.

"Say my name again," he abruptly tells her, cutting her off mid-sentence about her best friend. Olive looks startled and confused, but complies anyway.

"Peeta."

Despite the way she softly murmurs it, her brown eyes warmly watching him, his name doesn't sound right on her tongue. her voice isn't the one he desperately wants to hear for the rest of his life, whispering his name admist promises of "I love you."

Olive's voice is never the voice he wants to hear.

* * *

**A/N: Please, review!**


	28. Chapter 28

Her voice will never be the one he wants to hear, will it?

Peeta briefly stops by the bakery the next day, fleeing only when his older brother— Rye, not Brett, Peeta's not sure where his oldest brother disappeared to— announces Olive's spontaneous visit to the shop. He's avoiding her, yes, it's weak— he fucking _understands_, Rye— but he can't see her after yesterday. Peeta isn't sure if she saw Katniss in the store, and he pleads for Rye to lie for him as he hastily tugs on his jacket.

Fall's just begun, and the air already carries a chill.

Minutes after he returns to Victor Village the doorbell rings.

His heart sinks.

Very unhelpful, Rye.


	29. Chapter 29

It's only Rye, intent on chastising Peeta more.

"You made me lie to a pretty girl," Rye complains, pushing past his brother to head to the kitchen. Peeta tries to resist rolling his eyes as he watches his brother raid his refrigerator.

They look similar enough, Rye only a few inches taller and broader. Rye's blond hair is darker, though, and he prefers to keep it in a buzz cut.

"You're lucky Brett walked in a second later, Peet, 'cause I made him finish explaining where you're at," Rye says, pulling out an assortment of food. He's barely holding back his smirk as Peeta's eyes widen almost comically.

"You did _what_? Brett's a shitty liar!"

"Aw, look at Peeta, using grown-up words. You better watch your mouth, boy," Rye says, mockingly narrowing his eyes sternly as he wags a carrot at his younger brother. He sits at the island structure in the middle of the kitchen, spreading out the containers of food he swiped from Peeta's refridgerator across the spotless white countertop. Peeta simply gapes at his brother, watching as the older boy shovels a copious amount of food into his mouth.

Rye sheepishly glances up as if finally noticing Peeta's glare, and he reaches for the frosted tray of cookies Peeta baked earlier. Peeta slams his hand down on the counter, blocking Rye's hand.

"Tell me you did _not_ leave Brett to lie to Olive."

"Tell me you're not avoiding her because of the Seam girl," Rye counters, and instantly Peeta stiffens. Rye apologetically takes a cookie from the tray, studying the delicate flower pattern.

"Peeta," he begins, and Peeta instantly recognizes his brother's "I'm-going-to-make-a-speech-you-won't-like" tone, and he raises his hand to stop Rye from speaking.

"Leave it, Rye."

"But we're worried about you," Rye persists, and at the dark look Peeta shoots him Rye drops the cookie back onto the counter. "You know Mom is worried, just in her own way."

Peeta mutters something about how her way is simply not caring.

"Don't be like that, Peet," Rye says quietly. "We _all_ are worried about you, Peeta. We just want you to be happy, and if that means moving on then…"

Rye trails off, and Peeta shoots his brother a wry smile. "I meant what I said in my interview, Rye."

Rye silently chews the cookie, waiting for Peeta to continue, because this is rare. They didn't discuss the Hunger Games when Peeta first came back, and have adopted the tactic of simply avoiding the topic entirely as their way of dealing with it.

"I've loved her for a long time, and I'm not sure I'll ever stop," Peeta says, moving to put Rye's empty plate in the washer. "I'm not sure I can."

"Do you want to?" Rye asks, his voice quiet as he takes another cookie.

Peeta doesn't answer, and Rye doesn't press it. They sit in silence for a moment, before Rye half-jokingly says, "Well, what about Delly? Because, no offense, your girlfriend's hot and all, but she seems a bit…"

"Ditzy? Airhead-ish? A little empty up there?" Peeta supplies, snickering slightly as Rye attempts to look indignant. He's never considered Delly that way, and knows he never will think of his longtime childhood/best friend like that.

"_Carefree_," Rye says, laughing when Peeta breaks into choking laughs. They're not even sure what's funny, and maybe nothing is, but the moment simply feels so normal for them, and it's a relief they can still joke around and tease each other.

"What about Marie?" Peeta asks, amusedly watching his brother flush at mention of the butcher's daughter.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Rye tries to growl menacingly, but Peeta only laughs harder, and a smile finds it way on Rye's face, too.

"You going to ask her to marry you anytime soon, Rye?"

"You let me worry about my problems, and you deal with your own," Rye says, and their laughs quiet. Rye glances around the kitchen, noting the two stoves and bakery tools strewn on several countertops.

"Does she make you happy, Rye?" Peeta asks suddenly, and Rye looks up, surprised.

"Yeah, course."

A moment of silence floats by.

"You?" Rye asks carefully, asking about Katniss, and his light blue eyes study Peeta's darker blue irises intently. Peeta meets his brother's gaze steadily, a wry, tired smile morphing his face when he responds.

"Yeah. I know it doesn't make sense, but she does."

Rye leans back in his island stool, balancing his back against the chair as he stretches. "Then I guess that's that, Peeta. It doesn't have to make sense."

Peeta stands from his chair across from his brother, a puzzled look on his face. "What?"

The doorbell rings, and Rye shrugs as he slides from the seat. "You'll figure it out one day. I better go out through the back door. Guess Brett's skills haven't improved in the time you were gone."

Rye offers his brother a hesitant smile after he mentioned the Hunger Games, and Peeta only rolls his eyes while grinning himself. "Wasn't gone for that long, Rye."

Rye's smile widens. "No, I guess you weren't."

Peeta watches as Rye moves to the door, and his eyebrows questioningly rise when Rye turns around, his hand resting on the knob.

"Peeta?" Rye starts, his gaze serious and his voice adopting _that tone_ again.

"What?" Peeta asks, unsure if he should brace himself for sorrowful words, more words of wisdom, or an unsettling remark.

Rye's mouth quickly slips into his trademark smirk, the shit-eating grin one that many Merchant and Seam girls had fallen for animating his face.

"Thanks for the food."

Peeta starts to indignantly protest at the anticlimactic statement, and Rye only snickers before making some comment about how Peeta whines and frosts cookies like a girl.

Or something like that.

A hesitant knock sounds from the front door, and Rye takes the opportunity to escape from Peeta's house, ignoring the profanity-laced whisper from Peeta to stay.

Peeta glances around the kitchen, taking a deep breath to calm himself before facing the silhouette waiting outside his door. He isn't sure what he'll say to Olive, entirely expecting to wing it...

He remembers someone telling him he had an admirable talent with words, an ease when talking or charming people. Peeta's hand rests on the silver doorknob, and he forces himself to turn it.

* * *

**A/N: Look! It's so long! Just wanted to do Peeta's relationship with his brother justice :) Review, please!**

**Oh, and I was reading the reviews, and it's really funny that some are marked "Guest," because one is rooting for Katniss, the other Olive, and it's hilarious how the "same" person does a complete 180. Hah :)**

**And thanks for following this story! **

***I made a small mistake last chapter and fixed it. _Brett_ is Peeta's oldest brother, not Rye. Sorry for the confusion.**


	30. Chapter 30

"Olive—" he starts, just as he opens the front door. He's met with a surprise: Katniss waits, a frown on her face as she tugs on her braid.

"Sorry, no." Katniss looks at her shoes. Peeta flushes as he thinks of yesterday, and at her silence he wonders if she's thinking of that too.

"Would you like to come inside?" he asks desperately. Katniss looks over to her house, three doors down from his, and nods.

"I'd like that," she says softly.

He lets her in a smile playing across his lips.

He doesn't think of Olive at all.


	31. Chapter 31

"So how've you been?" Katniss asks, filling the silence in his television room. Peeta almost forgets to answer as he stares at her from the doorway of the room. She settles into the soft couch, avoiding his eyes.

"Good."

It isn't the complete truth; it isn't completely a lie. He's been better, of course, but now isn't the time for admitting his worst mistakes, not when she's finally letting him in like this. Not when there's an ever growing chance that _something_— whether simply friendship— is blossoming between them.

Katniss doesn't say anything, and Peeta can feel the distance between them. Heavy topics will only result in tears and running away and liquor, but simply conversation seems inadequate for them, considering what they've endured together.

He settles for a compromise.

"Would you like to see my paintings?" he asks before he can overthink his question and talk himself out of even mentioning the way he's handling pain now.

Katniss's head darts up, a curious look to her face. It brings a soft shine to her gray eyes, and Peeta can't help but grin when she looks at some point on his wall, thinking. Katniss faces him once more, that shine still in her eyes.

She's offers a small smile.

* * *

**A/N:** It's funny; I've already written the end. Just need to work up to that point. I was thinking of doing a sequel, too, if you guys are interested... And I've reached **50** **followers**! Hurrah!


	32. Chapter 32

He shows her the easier paintings first.

By easier, he means topics that are _safe_.

Flowers, cookies, cakes, trees, houses in Victor's Village, the Meadow and the electrical fence, the town. Katniss nods at each one, studying the brushstrokes carefully. He smiles as he watches her.

But as he leads her through the high-ceilinged, large windowed studio she notices a collection of paintings leaning against the wall, tucked away into a corner with a thick sheet draped over them.

"What are those?" she asks, and Peeta doesn't want to answer.

"Stuff," he offers lamely.

"Like what?"

She's too curious sometimes.

* * *

**A/N:** Random note: Anyone seen _**The Dark Knight Rises**_? I did. _**Epic**_. And we have many chapters ahead, so please stick with me(:


	33. Chapter 33

"Can I see them?" she asks, her eyes darting from the blanketed paintings to him. She drifts away from the bakery painting, and her gray eyes blink at him. The look on her face is just so _Katniss_ he finds himself nodding along, paint-stained fingers reaching for the fabric.

His fingers have just curled around the sheet when he pauses, shutting his eyes.

"Before I show you this, there's something you should know," he says softly, opening his eyes again. She looks uneasy, but still nods encouragingly.

So many things are bubbling to his lips, the story of what he's been through dying to reveal itself. But he can't have her look at him with gray eyes full of pity, not when she looks at someone else with those same eyes filled with the love he wants.

He stumbles over words, stuttering over what needs to be said.

"Peeta?" she says, cutting him off, completely ill at ease now. He takes a deep breath; this is it, this is when he'll _finally_ tell her—

"I have nightmares, too," is all he says, and she nods, anxious eyes back on the covered paintings. She doesn't even think, she can't even imagine that maybe something inside him is broken, that quite possibly something may have happened to Peeta since she's decided to move on.

He hasn't moved on from those nights they spent together, he wants to scream at her. He can't fucking forget what her dark skin felt like against his own, how silky her hair was as it brushed his shoulder, how soft her lips were, how raw her cries were—

But he doesn't say any of this, and for someone who has always had a way with words, Peeta finds them failing him now. So he just shakes his head, trying to erase the thoughts of never being good enough for someone else from his mind as his fingers pull at the cloth.

And maybe this is where the lying began.

* * *

**A/N: I realize that a few chapters back I had a review requesting longer chapters, so here ya go. Marvel at how much longer these chapters are getting.**


	34. Chapter 34

The sheet falls away, and Peeta hastily arranges the paintings in a way so all of them are visible, the canvases ranging in sizes.

He can't watch her examine these; the scenes are too real and too vivid for him to stare at the paintings once complete. Peeta looks at his hands, idly noticing the flour that coats part of the skin and rests under the nails.

Katniss is tense as she looks at each one, her eyes quickly roving over each painting. Her face turns red and her eyes widen, then her face pales and her face looks frozen.

A hint of sickness attacks her features next.

"I—" is all that manages to come out before she bolts, rushing past him to exit the room. Peeta gapes after her for a second, before he wildly follows her down the long hallways of his large house.

He's already lost her so many times—too many fucking times— that he won't let her go this easily. Not now.

He catches her just as she disappears into a room he easily recognizes as his bedroom, but she keeps moving to his bathroom.

He slides down the closed door of the bathroom, prepared to wait for her to let him in. As sounds of her retching, sobbing, reaches him through the shut door, relief tugs at him. They'll get through this. Somehow, they will.

Maybe this isn't even true, maybe this will be the last time she runs from him because she simply won't be coming back, but Peeta is getting better at lying to himself. He listens to her strangled gasps, and he almost believes that one day they'll be together. He's believed it since he was a child, loved her for all his life, it seems. Then why is it suddenly so hard to believe it now?


	35. Chapter 35

"Katniss?"

He gently knocks on the door. It's been quiet in there for over five minutes, and now he's become worried. A small shuffle sounds from inside, before the quick rumble of the toilet flushes.

"Just a minute," she croaks in response, and the sink turns on. He paces in front of his bed, waiting for her to exit, and a few minutes later she does.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, and he instantly goes to her, his hands wrapping around her before he can fully think of the many reasons why he shouldn't touch her.

She stiffens in his arms, before relaxing into his embrace like she always does. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, and he grips her tighter to him, a few wisps of her hair tickling his nose. He breathes in her scent, the familiar aroma that is simply _Katniss_.

It's now that she abruptly pulls away, as if realizing where they are at.

They stand in front of his bed, the bed they have lain in together, exploring new expanses of skin in the darkness of night for comfort against the nightmares. The bed he murmured those words in her ear as she moved against him, seeking heights he would always give her. It was in this bed she left him when the sun rose, hiding from him in the sunlight.

"I have to go," she blurts, a wild look to her eyes, and she's gone before he can convince her to stay. He stares at the empty doorway, his fingers curled around nothing when only moments before they rested on her. He shuts his eyes, a pained look on his face, when he hears the distant slam of his front door.

For once Peeta Mellark doesn't chase after Katniss Everdeen.

The next day he goes to the small Town Square, blue eyes always, always searching for her, but his gaze finds only the gray planes of District 12.

He enters a random shop, something shiny in the window catching his eye. As he hands over a small portion of his Hunger Games winnings to the shop keeper, his mind is carefully blank. Which is strange, but welcomed, as he purchases a ring.


	36. Chapter 36

He still hasn't worked up the nerve to actually _do_ something with the polished ring, and instead is content with lying on his bed, watching as rays of sunlight glint on the platinum band. The ring is of simple design, with thin lines crisscrossing into a heart, where a small diamond rests.

Peeta was surprised he was able to find something so delicate and expensive in District 12, but the shopkeeper explained it had been in the family, given to his grandmother by a Peacekeeper when they had married.

Peeta had politely listened.

He twirls the ring in his hands, thinking again of only Katniss.

He thinks of how it was nice to have someone else in his house for company, for conversation, because he hadn't realized just how lonely living in the huge Victor's house was. As he shifts around on the soft sheets of his bed he wonders if he had been her first.

She had been his.

He thinks of her close relationship with Gale and realizes that even if he was her first, he probably wasn't her last.

It's an awful thought.

He shoves the ring back in its box, and heads to the kitchen, to agitated to paint and desperate for some sort of release to end the sudden pain that's building inside of him. He hadn't felt this poorly in weeks, and the unexpected ache hurts more than he remembered.

He grips the island counter tightly, his knuckles turning white. Peeta thinks of how only two days ago he was sitting at the counter, laughing and joking with Rye with an ease that offered tremendous amounts of comfort. Only two days ago he told his brother that she made him happy, and yeah, it doesn't make sense, but isn't that what love is supposed to be? Something that is confusing, heart-wrenching, but something so impossibly _good_ that it'll always be worth fighting for, worth suffering for?

He had told Rye that she made him _happy. _And some days she did.

But all that Peeta could think of is the misery he's suffered because of her, the depression he's felt, and the bleakness the corners of his once simple world carries now, all because of her.

He's loved her since he was five years old; he's loved her for forever.

_Yeah. I know it doesn't make sense, but she does._

Peeta runs a hand through his hair, completely at a loss of what to do now. When something you've believed in since childhood is suddenly _ruined_ and you're told what you've thought for all your life is _worthless,_ what are you supposed to do?

He can already see her in the woods, running through the trees with a large smile on her face as Gale chases her. Gale makes Katniss happy, and she's survived this long without needing—loving— Peeta, so where does that leave him?

_Fuck you, Katniss._

He doesn't need to be reminded that Gale probably already is.

* * *

**A/N**: I am pleased to announce that a major climax/point is upcoming (somewhat) shortly, and then _Like Crazy_ will enter the Catching Fire realm, in effort to keep this somewhat running with the storyline of the trilogy. Yay!

Let me know what you think of what's happening so far, so please drop me a review!

—O


	37. Chapter 37

Peeta's finally convinced himself to leave his house, abandoning awful thoughts of Katniss's possible love for someone else. On his way to his front door he pauses at the kitchen counter. His fingers brush by the ring once, twice, and finally he shoves it in his pocket, a forbidden, terrifying idea forming in his mind. Peeta knows what he _wants_ to do with the ring; he doesn't know what he's _going_ to do with the ring, but isn't that the beauty of most great things? The thrill of having so many options, but being undecided, not knowing what may happen next?

The ring feels heavy in his pocket, weighing his prosthetic leg down considerably (he thinks), and he anxiously switches pockets. His heart is thudding in his chest as he walks the familiar path to town, and when he sees Katniss walking the streets, too, the nervous feeling becomes a thousand times worse.

He doesn't know what he'll say, why he's giving her the ring, what it means— it's all too soon and doesn't make sense— but Peeta forces himself to continue strolling to her. A part of him is begging to be recognized as it screams for him to stop, claiming this is a bad idea, and maybe it is. But Peeta refuses to listen to the chatter in his head as he nears her, now only three shops away—

A dark arm is thrown over Katniss's shoulders as someone exits the butcher's shop, and Peeta halts, his throat constricting as he believes it to be Gale.

But the laugh that sounds isn't the same as the older boy's, and Peeta finally realizes it is Rory Hawthorne.

* * *

**A/N:** I forgot to mention last chapter about the whole ruined childhood: I felt that way about Disney's _Pocahontas_. I was unaware that there was a second one, and then all of a sudden she doesn't end up with John Smith?! Say _what_ now?! It broke my heart. T_T

Note: This chapter was originally over 1,000 words. So I split it up.

So there.

(Hah. Dying to say that.)

And we've reached over **100** reviews! Whoo! (106, actually!)

I'll post the other chapter later as a thank you for such awesome readers(:


	38. Chapter 38

If possible, seeing the younger Hawthorne hurts as much as seeing Gale.

The boy, if Peeta remembers correctly, is in Prim's year, and is nearly identical to his brother with the typical Seam look. Rory's hair is curlier, though, longer too, whereas Gale's hair is cut in short waves.

Katniss says something to Rory, shrugging off the taller boy's arm as Prim bounds from the bakery across the street. A large smile lights the younger girl's face as she animatedly speaks of something he can't quite catch, and she points to the window of his family's bakery shop.

Rory laughs, throwing his arm around both of their shoulders, and Peeta can imagine Katniss rolling her eyes as she throws her hands into the air. Prim giggles, her blue eyes shining as she gazes at the two darker teens, a delighted smile on her face.

Peeta doesn't make to follow them, his need to speak to Katniss gone.

He feels sick as he watches them stroll down the street, because for the first time he's realized he doesn't really belong in her life. He doesn't have a real place with her, no real definition to what lies between them.

But Gale fits.

Gale and the rest of the Hawthornes have been there all her life, offering help and smiles as they struggled to survive. Gale's her best friend, familiar, and being with him could be so easy for her. So unlike the matted knots of hesitation, uncertainty, and fear surrounding the bond between Peeta and her. The sudden urge to throw the ring in his pocket at the ground, just simply far, far away, as he watches them approach the corner nearly overwhelms him, and he almost does, his fingers closing around the band.

But a voice stops him.

"Peeta?"

* * *

**A/N**: In response to LavenderBrownFan and anyone else concerned about the short chapters: The short chapters make it easier for me to stay motivated and update, 'cause I figured shorter and faster updates were better than long-ass chapters every five weeks, or longer, and they're easier for me to do. And it helps me improve my writing by making good edits to say more using less words. :)

I do have plans for another fanfic unrelated to Like Crazy, and I think it will include longer chapters. Just need to finish this up first, because I don't want abandon my first fanfiction! Haha(:


	39. Chapter 39

_Guilt._

He's still staring straight ahead, eyes widening as he he realizes he's completely forgotten about Olive. At the sound of his name, long blond hair suddenly whips around, Prim's eyes widening as her eyes search for him. Prim's blue eyes land on him first, then dart to Olive, and an indecipherable look crosses her face as her eyes flash dangerously. Before she can open her mouth she's pulled around the corner by Rory, her sister and the younger Hawthorne unaware of his presence.

"Peeta," Olive repeats, and Peeta tiredly recognizes that the usually bubbly girl sounds downright pissed off. "I've been trying to talk to you for days. Why are you avoiding me?"

He shuts his eyes, trying to contain the waves of anger that boils inside of him at having his foolish hopes crushed again, and it's all can do to not snap at her.

Didn't she watch the Games on her television?

Didn't she watch the interviews, all the moments in the cave he shared with Katniss, where he admitted his love for the Seam girl that usually didn't recognize his existence?

Doesn't she fucking _know_ that he loves Katniss, he'll _always_ love Katniss, it'll always _be_ Katniss?

"I'm sorry," he mutters instead, turning to face her. She looks as though she's considering his apology, deciding if he really means it— he does, really, just not for what she thinks: he's sorry he'll never love her— before sniffing delicately and saying something about how she's been worried for days, and what happened, things were so _good_ between them...

Peeta apologizes again, lets her talk without really listening to her, and he takes her hand in his, the ring burning his leg as they walk. But despite his anger at Olive, a malicious idea crosses his mind. The ring. He can already imagine himself giving Olive the ring, getting down on one knee and proposing to her out of spite and fear of being alone. He tries to imagine their future, but his mind either replaces an older him and Olive with an older Katniss, then chidren that are a beautiful mix between her dark features and his lighter ones; or Peeta sees Olive older and bitter, with a constant sneer on her face that reminds him suspiciously of his mother.

No. Though his hand had slipped into his pocket, fingers curling around the ring, he just can't do that to Olive. He can't condemn her to a life of never truly being loved the most, a life where she is forced to watch her husband mournfully pine after someone else.

Peeta doesn't even think of the Capitol's demands, blissfully unaware of just how dire the situation regarding the berries really is.

It hurts that Olive doesn't know him well enough— doesn't love him enough— to know that things really weren't _good_, that he was steadily sinking, drowning, flailing, and she didn't even realize it.

He's walking her back to her house when a sickening thought pierces the brooding haze he always slips into when she rambles about stupid, inane things.

Olive didn't— doesn't— recognize that he is simply miserable, caught in a state of melancholy.

But then again, Katniss doesn't realize it either.

The thin smile he had pasted on his face for Olive's sake vanishes.

Sleep doesn't come easy that night, and he wakes up shaking and gasping for breath. His mind is too full of nightmares.

Usually he would paint, paint out the horrible scenes of watching Katnissdie a million deaths in a million different ways, usually she is burning, the look of absolute fear of the fire seemingly seared on her face for eternity.

But this nightmare is different.

It's the first time his dreams really focus on what happens after Olive leaves him, angry that he'll never love her; what happens after Katniss decides she wants Gale, after the Victory Tour and the times they don't have to be together in the Capitol, acting madly in love. It's the first time he's terrified that after everything that's happened, that he's suffered, after the fucking Games, he'll still end up alone.

* * *

**A/N:** Don't forget to review! I am seriously loving all the feedback(:

And can anyone tell me how large they think District 12 is? I have no idea, and for a technical part later I kinda-maybe-really need to know... thanks!


	40. Chapter 40

He can't sleep anymore, not after this. Peeta pushes the covers from him, his mind already too alert and thinking of the loneliness of this house. He paces around his room, running his hand through the mess of blond curls on his head. He just needs _something_ to stop the flow of awful thoughts about being alone and the Hunger Games and Gale and Katniss and Olive―

Baking takes too long, but he tries it anyway. Three hours later, when the sky is finally beginning to steadily grow lighter, Peeta stares at several batches of burned, or barely decent assorted treats.

Liquor is absolutely useless to him.

Peeta feels only slightly ashamed that he even considered alcohol or morphine, but the shame isn't as pronounced and intense as it used to be. He can't decide if this is a good thing, or does it mean he's falling off the edge even faster, now?

He's got Olive, he supposes, but what is she going to do? Listen to his problems, comfort him, and feed him the lie of how everything is going to be okay?

He can't even imagine her doing any of those things, and even if she tried he meanly thinks she would be absolutely horrible at them.

So painting, then?

He forgot to order more canvas, and besides, what would he paint, anyway? An empty room; a lone silhouette watching the sunrise; a person staring through a window glaring at the clouds, wishing the sun would stop rising so the world would die while a solitary tear falls down his cheek?

Peeta's mind drifts to the Hunger Games, but only after instructing himself to not think of Katniss. He needs to move on, and he knows that, but _how_? How do you just forget someone you've loved for all of your life? How do you just reduce every happy memory, every smile, every shared moment, every _feeling _to mean _nothing_?

He remembers being in the cave, practically dead, but he was happy. He was happy, even though death loomed in the not-so-far distance, because he was with someone he loved, someone he was _in_ love with, and he thought she felt the same way, too.

Obviously, she didn't.

Peeta rummages through the large, walk-in closet in his room, searching for training shoes Portia had given him. They were designed like the shoes they were given in the training center, but sleeker and tailored specifically for him with soles made for hiking and such.

_For you and Katniss_, Portia told him, winking, and Peeta blushed, because this was before Katniss had admitted that she had only pretended to love him for the cameras. And yeah, some foolish part of him thought they would come home, become even closer, open up to each other fully, explore the woods together as she finally let down her walls and showed him her one haven...

He thinks again of the Hunger Games, of the training center, times where his mind was wonderfully clear and focused on simply being _better_ to keep Katniss alive. He remembers running for his life in the Hunger Games, blood pumping through both of his legs, and all he could think of was running faster, faster, to survive, and what else mattered at that point?

Peeta grabs a navy sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, pulling them on as he walks to the bathroom.

Minutes later, after he laces up the shoes, he's out the door, feet pounding over the grounds of the Merchant area of District 12, and he can only think of running more quickly, and the thought of how stupid it is that he's trying to outrun his problems when she's gotten away from him every time doesn't hesitate to fill his mind.

_It doesn't matter_, he tells himself, and continues to run.

The rhythmic sound of his feet pushing at the earth sounds in his ears, the sound as steady as a heartbeat.

He thinks of when he could wake up in the night, haunted by nightmares, and feel another heart strongly beating against his, reminding him that he wasn't alone.

Now when he wakes only the sound of his cries accompanies the frantic beats of his heart.

* * *

**A/N**: Again, this section was just so long that I had to split it up. Sorry! And Review! :)


	41. Chapter 41

Peeta continues running, blind to where's he's going as tears buildup in his eyes. They fall, and as he runs the chilly air seems to freeze the tears on his cheeks.

Somehow he ends up circling around various parts of District 12, drifting tothe outskirts of the town, before finally stopping outside the Hob. He's never been in, and now it seems like he should go in, because he's been to the Capitol and soon he'll tour all of the other Districts, so why hasn't he been to this part of his District?

He's still deciding, panting as he tries to regain his breath, when Katniss quietly walks up to the entrance, her game bag slung over her shoulders. She doesn't notice him, which is rare.

"Katniss," he says, walking to her. Her eyes flash to him, obviously startled, and a shaky smile graces her face.

"Peeta," she greets, adjusting her bag. She looks surprised to see him, and her eyes continue to dart to the space around them.

Peeta realizes just how strange things have gotten between them, but maybe he's masochistic because he can't just _not_ talk to her, not when she's standing here alone. Maybe later he'll end up reviewing this conversation on a loop in his mind, wondering what he could have done differently to make her love him.

It's sad that he has to try so hard to convince her to love him, his thoughts randomly sneer, but he ignores it to look at her with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "You ran out pretty fast―"

Katniss's face flushes, and she looks at a point past him. "I'm sorry, it's just that seeing the paintings…"

She trails off, but he thinks he understands. The Hunger Games is still a nightmare for him, too.

"They're beautiful, Peeta, really," she whispers, her gray eyes staring directly into his, and it hurts to see the sadness in them, "but I just hate them."

A knowing laugh bubbles to his lips, and her lips form their own hesitant smile at the sound.

"I hate them, too," Peeta tells her, his chuckles quieting, as he pushes the too-long hair from his face. "I hate that I see them every night when I'm asleep."

Katniss stares at him, before dropping her gaze to the ground as she folds her arms over her chest. Her voice is so quiet he almost misses it.

"I see them, too."

They stand outside the Hob for a minute, both quiet, the taller, broader blond boy staring at the wiry darker girl in front of him as she avoids his gaze.

Disappointment floods his chest as she remains silent, but disappointment at what? Did he really think that just because Gale isn't with her that she's suddenly decided to choose Peeta, and this random meeting is where she'll profess her love for him?

He hates that even after she's already proved he should expect nothing from her, hell, after she told him everything she had given him was just a fucking lie to survive, he still expects something from her.

"Well, I should go," he says, jerking his thumb to some point behind him. She looks at him then, and he can tell there's something she wants to say, but suddenly he's just _tired_ of waiting around for her to decide to offer some part of herself, to open up just a crack and allow him a glimpse of her thoughts.

She's doesn't stop him as he jogs away, his pace much slower now (to allow her time to make her decision, catch up?), and he tells himself it's because he's tired, and he needs to pace himself as he plans to jog through the main roads of town at least once more before heading back to that empty, empty house to prepare for his shift at the bakery.

This time when he hears her soft voice, he's sure he's imagined it, because he's already feet away from where he left her by the Hob.

"Goodbye, Peeta."

* * *

**A/N**: I said the turning point was coming up shortly, and it is... just in my writing. What I mean is, I usually write several chapters at a time, as one word document, and end up splitting it up. So to me, the climax is turning up fairly soon. But for the readers... a little longer.

Sorry for any errors. I'm a bit sick right now, and feeling (quite) under the weather. I may/may not update tomorrow.


	42. Chapter 42

Later, as the hot water of the shower runs over him, Peeta's lips curl into a smile. For once he didn't cave to her, wait for her to haltingly carry an awkward conversation with him. It's a strange thing to feel victorious over, but he feels as though this is some proof that he is strong, unbreakable, and that he can move on.

Not even Olive's spontaneous visit to the bakery later that day that lasts a _little_ longer than he would have liked can ruin his happiness over finally finding the "inner strength" Brett continued to talk about.

Peeta drops a cup as he's closing up the shop, and it shatters as it strikes the tile of the bakery floor. As he stares at the fragmented pieces, it somehow strikes him that the reason why today's encounter with Katniss didn't break him as it became obvious she would never choose him, and it's a thought he wishes he never had.

You can't really break what's already broken, can you?

Peeta tries to think of a time where he might have been damaged beyond repair and just didn't realize it, and he's anxious as he hopes he never thinks of the moment. But of course, he remembers.

_"Coaching you? But not me," says Peeta, a feeling of something being so horribly wrong rising in his chest._

_"He knew you were smart enough to get it right," she says, staring at him with a pleading look to her eyes._

_"I didn't know there was anything to get right," says Peeta. "So what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess… back in the arena… that was just some strategy you two worked out."_

_"No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" she stammers._

_"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" says Peeta. She bites her lip, and he drops her hand, the wrong feeling suddenly making all too much sense to him._

_"Katniss?"_

_The kisses, the stories, the smiles, the way she loved him, needed him, couldn't fucking live without him―_

_"It was all for the Games," Peeta says, his voice wooden. "How you acted."_

_"Not all of it," Katniss says, her fingers clenched around the flowers._

_"Then how much? No forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" he says._

_She doesn't know._

_"Well, let me know when you work it out," he says, and his chest hurts and it hurts to breathe; it hurts to look at her, and as if realizing his pain she drops her gaze._

_She doesn't stop him to explain, or apologize, as he walks back to the train._

Peeta remembers holding her hand as they arrived in District 12, ready to face the cameras and the people of their District, and seeing her bright smile at finding Gale and her family in the crowd. He remembers feeling as though his world was torn apart, as if there was simply nothing that could possibly make this right, put him back together― but he smiled through it all.

Then she had come by two weeks later, and he foolishly had thought she had realized she loved him, and was there to piece him back together.

Peeta stares at the shards on the floor, knowing he has to clean them up before his mother finds out. A small cut is on his hand, and Peeta stares at the small droplets of blood.

His body isn't broken, he knows, kneeling to carefully pick up the mug pieces.

His mind definitely isn't.

Peeta throws the larger shards into the trash before grabbing a broom to sweep up the smaller pieces.

But Katniss broke something his father always tells him is just as important― his heart.

And Peeta's not sure if he, or anyone else besides Katniss, can put it back together.

* * *

**A/N**: Well, it's been awhile, and sorry for any errors.

The section in italics is cut from The Hunger Games, so I don't own the dialogue, just a few words added here and there.

Can someone tell me the approximate time period of the Hunger Games, the Victory Tour, and the Quarter Quell? I need to know for some stuff I need to happen, and I can't general dates that may/may not be in the book, and my friend hasn't returned my copy...

Also, Catching Fire stuff will be listed under a seperate part, which I will label the first chapter of that with some notification as we've moved on. Please let me know the times, and let me know what you're thinking about _Like Crazy_!

―O


	43. Chapter 43

The next day he's startled abruptly from his nap on the couch by a soft knock.

Somehow he's become a light sleeper.

Being trapped in an arena filled with dangers can do that to you.

His heart pounds and he scrambles from the couch, and somehow he feels as though he knows exactly who it is. Haymitch rarely comes by anymore, only making random appearances to offer a sort of empathetic look. Olive rings the doorbell three times, before knocking once, a large grin on her face as she paces around on his porch. Peeta rushes to the door and slowly opens it with a blank look, contrasting the tumble of emotions he feels inside. Things can never be _simple_ and _easy_ with her, can they?

"Hey, Katniss."

She glances over him before blushing and looking away, rocking back on her heels shoving her hands into her pockets. He looks at himself, realizing his state of undress. Boxers are perfectly suitable attire.

"Can I come in?"

Peeta offers a slight smile, and finds himself almost hesitating to answer. Which is strange, of course, because when has he ever considered denying her? When has he ever considered passing up the chance to spend time with her?

Maybe this makes him pathetic: that each decision concerning her requires this much thought.

Peeta shakes off the thoughts, the defiant words that Rye's muttered so many times echoing in his head.

_Fuck it._

His smile widens, and he pushes the door wide open. "Sure."


	44. Chapter 44

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Peeta asks hesitantly, grabbing a shirt he had left hanging on a hook near the door. He pulls it on, and flushes when he notices Katniss staring at him, her eyes lingering on his bare chest. She looks away and swallows, shaking her head in answer as she clasps her fingers in front of her.

"I came here— to apologize," she says haltingly, swiftly directing her gaze to him. Her eyes bore into his, never wavering though her cheeks redden slightly. "I'm sorry about running out on your paintings, I'm sorry about— after the Games," she finishes quietly. "I'm so sorry about what I did, Peeta— it was wrong of me to do so, and I'm sorry."

For a second he can't breathe, and he folds his arms across his chest, pushing his his arms back as if trying to force air from his lungs. Is she just sorry about why they slept together? Is that what she considers _wrong_? Or does she simply regret their nights together, believing them even knowing each other on such an intimate level is _wrong_?

"I forgive you," he says somewhat hoarsely, entirely unsure of himself and what she really means. He knows her well, better than people would think, but when it comes to her thoughts on him... he's utterly lost. Katniss looks relieved though, a small smile curling her mouth.

"I'd like to see your other paintings, if you've done anymore," she ventures carefully, studying his features to try to gauge his reaction. Peeta nods, allowing a smile to mirror hers.

"I've only sketched one more, since then," he explains, motioning to the wood staircase. "The new paints haven't come in yet."

Katniss nods, tugging at the zipper of her jacket as a look of desperate determination crosses her features. "I'd still like to see it, if that's okay."

Peeta hesitates.

It isn't because he hasn't forgiven her, or that he's determined to hate her (more of a failing decision to simply not _love_ her), but if he shows her he'll have to explain why he drew it, and that'll rehash memories that can link to he Games and the cave and lies and deception...

"It's in the studio," he says, giving up on thinking of all the reasons why showing her is a bad idea, because really, he'll end up showing her anyway. He's always been awful at denying her.

He leads her to the room she had fled not too long ago, and he sees her tense slightly as they pass the covered paintings. But she doesn't say anything, doesn't run, and for that Peeta's grateful.

"Here," he says quietly, tapping one of the three work desks set up in the room. It's a fairly large sized paper, pencil marks and pen drifting across the page to form scenes of beauty that mean so much to him.

"Is that you?" Katniss asks, gently tapping the small, smiling face of the boy in the drawing. Peeta shifts uncomfortably, and winces when he hears the quiet squeak of his metal leg. Katniss either doesn't notice or doesn't comment on it.

"Yeah," he hurriedly says, looking down at the sketch.

Peeta had drawn one of the few happy moments he can remember sharing with his mother. He's about five, around the time he was about to start school. He was watching her ice cookies, animatedly talking of the chores his father had let him do. Carry a piece of dough, mold it into bread, set the temperature of the large oven— _"Not the smaller one, Mama, the really big one!"_— and she had smiled at him as she completed creating another plain, iced white sugar cookie. Peeta asked if he could try to ice the cookies, and she had let him practice on a burned one, instructing him on how to squeeze the icing from the packets. She had gently smiled at his less than perfect results, telling him that one day he would get better. He even got to eat the cookie.

So that's what he had drawn: his mother smiling at him and looking down at a concentrated, determined young Peeta as he made a mess of the frosting. The look on her Merchant features is one that can only be interpreted as love.

Peeta explains this to Katniss, staring at the lines of the sketch and refusing to meet her gray eyes. He doesn't tell her about how he's come to associate a certain look in his mother's eyes as love, and how Mrs. Mellark's blue irises never seemed to hold that shining look for him anymore.

That makes him think of finally returning to District 12, and his visit to the bakery, and when he does work there—

But that's simply no good, Peeta tells himself. It's no good to wonder about those things now, and he forces himself to focus on this moment with Katniss.

He falls silent after talking of the first time he frosted a cookie, and Katniss softly presses her fingers to his arm, a sad look in her eyes as he stands there, frozen.

"I'm sorry," she whispers again, and he pries his eyes from the drawing to questioningly look at her.

"For what?"

She only shakes her head, pulling her fingers from his arm to trace the face of the happy child. He misses the light touch of her hand, and tries to ignore just how close they're standing to each other.

"I have to go, Peeta," she tells him, looking at the small clock on the desk. "Prim's expecting me for going into town."

Peeta nods, disappointment barring any words from escaping his lips. But really, again, disappointment at _what_? He doesn't bother finishing the thought, already aware of what the answer is.

"I'll walk you out," he offers, leading her through his small gallery. She pauses at the door, lingering as she stares, transfixed, at the cluster of his Hunger Games paintings.

"Can I see them again, Peeta?" she asks quietly, her eyes trained on the cloth. Peeta doesn't question the sudden hard, fierce glint in her eyes, already recognizing her determination to conquer this small part of the nightmare of the Games. Instead his fingers stretch to the cloth, pulling the fabric away to reveal scenes from their time spent in the arena.

Her body tenses as she looks at each one, her eyes shining as she catches sight of one she missed a few weeks earlier— the alive, serene Rue surrounded by mockingjays as she sings to the trees.

* * *

**A/N:** Look! It's so long! :) Thanks for all the reviews: we've reached **153**! _Yes! _Please, continue to let me know what you think, and this "turning point" is coming up shortly (I think I mean it this time).

Also, my updates may become less frequent (may!) because classes have started up again... :(

Yeesh, gotta hate these classes and stuff...

—O


	45. Chapter 45

Peeta notices how she freezes, but doesn't really understand that anything is wrong until he sees the tears on her cheeks. She doesn't run from him, her body shaking as the memories flood her thoughts.

Peeta thinks of the last time she viewed these paintings, when she had run away from the nightmares, escaping from him and taking away the chance for him to comfort her. Now she stands here, waiting, and he knows that he has to act now or he'll lose her forever.

Again, the feeling of making everything so overdramatic and blowing these little moments with her out of proportion strikes him again, but the memory of giving her the bread crosses his mind and Peeta knows that with Katniss, every moment with her counts.

He moves behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist in attempt to keep her anchored as she's caught in the strong current of depression. Katniss's hand moves to her mouth, trying to staunch the choking noises stemming from her mouth.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs in her ear repeatedly, tightening his grip on her waist as she makes to run away from the painting. He won't let her, not this time.

What registers in his mind first is how natural it feels to comfort her, to touch her to remind her that she is not alone. The indescribable scent that is just her— a mix between the sweet aroma of flowers and earth— infiltrates his nose as he presses his face to her hair, still murmuring nonsensical consoling words.

Eventually Katniss leans into him, her sobs quieting slightly as she shakes her head. A few tears trickle down her cheeks, and she swipes her hand across her cheek to erase the stubborn tears. Katniss gently touches Rue's smiling face before pulling at Peeta's arms, unwinding him from around her. Peeta immediately feels the loss of her body pressed against his, but he tries to force a knowing smile on his face to cover the frustration of the metaphorical distance between them in effort not to scare her away.

So of course he's surprised when Katniss turns to face him and throws her arms around his neck, pulling him flush against her in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry you see them too," she whispers in his ear, her voice tickling his ear. Peeta shivers slightly as he wraps his arms around her waist. He breathes in this moment; he breathes in the fact that they are suffering together, they are grieving together— and they will get through this, _together_.

For the first time in a while Peeta actually believes that things will get better.

He finally thinks it's possible that he'll actually be _okay_.

* * *

**A/N:** Today sucked. Please, review! Let me know what you think. I love all your comments and input(:


	46. Chapter 46

Peeta's gently kneading the dough, speaking the instructions for the fruit and nut bread aloud as he completes the steps. Katniss watches him carefully, offering a random comment about hunting as he continues to bake bread.

He grins at her, swiping a finger coated in flour down her nose when her attention drifts. Her eyes widen almost comically, before she retaliates in tossing a sprinkle of cinnamon at him. Her laugh is happy, careless, and— what he loves the most about it— because of _him_.

Since she came by only a little more than a week and a half ago to look at the paintings, they've slipped into an easy routine. She hunts early in the morning, coming over his house after she's completed her morning trades and walked Prim to school. At his house he bakes, attempting to teach her how to fix the most basic of bread and other meals, even as Katniss waves his instructions away, declaring one day she'll bring Prim by, because her younger sister is a much better cook.

Katniss hasn't brought her by, not yet. Peeta understands this, of course, because the time they spend together is time he likes to reserve for her, and her only.

At about noon he will go to the bakery for his shift, greeting Rye with a large smile on his face. His brother would sometimes ask what's made him so happy— _"Finally dump Olive, Peet?"_— and then Peeta will face guilt over the fact that he's steadily avoided Olive to spend time with Katniss. But usually it's Brett that's working there, offering what Peeta considers words of wisdom about life.

That must be why Brett is Mother's favorite, Peeta thinks, shaping the lumps of dough. His oldest brother is quiet, patient, obedient, smart, and looks more like their mother than Peeta or Rye do. Rye's probably too talkative for their mother, too happy and headstrong and popular. Hitting him regularly may cause too many questions to be asked, and Rye wouldn't stand for the treatment in the first place.

Which leaves Peeta.

Katniss asks him something he doesn't quite catch, and Peeta shakes off the thoughts of his family to focus on this moment— this _real_ moment of happiness.

"What?" he asks, putting the finishes touches of molding the fruit and nut bread as he prepares to stick it into the oven.

Katniss drums her fingers against his white island countertop, an action Peeta's discovered she does whenever she feels self-conscious.

"I asked if you ever thought about that moment when we were kids," she repeats, staring at the flour covered counter. She draws abstract patterns into the flour, before glancing at him, waiting for his answer.

"When you threw me the bread," Katniss prompts, staring at him curiously. Peeta loads a pan with the dough, carefully sliding the pan into a shelf in one of his ovens. His fingers are already covered in enough burns, but he hates to use the mitts.

Not since he dropped one in the oven and when his mother found out—

"Of course," Peeta says softly, wiping his hands on the small apron he's wearing. It only covers his hands in more flour, but the action is a habit so he continues to do it anyway.

He leans against the island counter, resting his hands on it as he stares down at Katniss in her seat.

"It was the day I had the opportunity to save the girl I loved, so I took it. I couldn't let her die."

Even now he can see her emaciated form slumped against the tree, rain pouring down on her, and he can easily recognize the defeated tilt in her shoulders, the will to live gone…

Katniss looks away, unable to hold his gaze when he mentions things like _love_. He imagines it only makes her feel worse as she remembers how she pretended to love him, but after years of loving her from afar he simply can't hide his feelings anymore. Peeta's tired of loving her secretly, and even if she can only offer this form of friendship it's still better than her not acknowledging his existence.

Peeta picks up a towel and gently rubs at her nose, wiping off the flour he had teasingly put there. Katniss looks at him now, blushing as she murmurs her thanks.

He only grins before glancing at the clock, realizing just how late it's gotten. He had woken up later today, as his sleep was actually undisturbed by nightmares.

Full nights of sleep are rare for him, seeing as nightmares plague him in the dark.

"I have to go," he says, hurriedly tugging at the strings of the apron. Katniss's eyes dart to the clock, before looking at the oven with concern.

"What about—"

"When the timer goes off, can you take them out?" Peeta asks, running a flour covered hand through his hair in effort to straighten it. As he moves toward the door she trails after him, a look of panic on her face.

"Me? Peeta, I can't—"

"They are mitts hanging by the oven," he says, pulling on a light jacket. He shoves his feet into a pair of nicer shoes, unable to remember is he's working in the back today or manning the register.

"But Peeta—"

"You'll be fine," he smoothly cuts in, grinning at her encouragingly. "I'll see you at seven."

Then— in a moment of utter stupidity— Peeta kisses her cheek, realizing what he's done as she tenses beneath his lips.

He slowly pulls away, staring at her as his shock is reflected in her gray eyes.

"Peeta—"

"I'll see you later," he rushes to say, his cheeks coloring to a shade of red that matches her own. With that he tugs open the door, and closes it behind him with a definite click, hiding the dumbfounded look on her face.

He walks faster than he normally does, his thoughts racing as he wonders what Katniss is thinking. Though his thoughts circle around to quickly, the distinct feeling of irony tugs at him.

_Who's running from their problems now, Peeta?_

_I have to work_, he scolds that irritating voice. _I can't be late again._

But still, the fear that she'll avoid him now returns at full force, accompanied by the thought that he's really screwed things up with her now.

He tries to tell himself to calmd down, that really, everything will be okay. Peeta briefly squeezes his eyes shut, something akin to dread and regret filling him as he groans, once, before opening his eyes.

_Shit._

* * *

**A/N:** The end was a complete surprise for me (it just kinda _happened),_ but okay! And I feel like you guys are going to hate me after skipping like a whole week in their lives... ***ducks after someone throws a rotten cabbage***

That's one of my greatest fears right there. Having cabbage thrown at my head.

And special thing to** ImBeautifullyHuman** (I hope I got that right)— your review made me chuckle. _Heehee_. I feel that way while writing this sometimes, haha(:

I thought about adding in a piece about the time between this chapter and the last chapter, but it would ruin the flow, you know? (_Rhyme Alert!_)But maybe I would post it... as a bonus, for like... **250 reviews, **or something... ;)

Anyways, thank you for reviewing/following/favoriting me and _Like Crazy_!


	47. Chapter 47

It's Gale, standing at the beginning of one of the only pavement roads in District 12.

The older boy's dark curls are messier than usual, and his gray eyes are wild and frantic as he looks at Peeta. It's almost like the Seam boy is wary, or afraid to walk to road that leads to Victor's Village. Peeta clings to the decreasing hope that Gale will ignore his presence, pretend Peeta doesn't exist, but much to his surprise Gale stops him from walking past.

"Have you seen Katniss?" Gale asks urgently, and Peeta has to resist looking back to his house as hardened gray eyes glare at him.

"No," Peeta lies, shoving his hands into his jacket pocket, and the mantra of _late, late, late, I'm fucking late_ runs dizzying loops in his mind. Gale narrows his eyes at Peeta, eyes roving over the new coat, the new jeans, and the healthy shine to Peeta's face.

Peeta stiffens, noticing the severe contrast of Gale's worn boots, clothes, to everything Peeta now owns: shiny, new, and courtesy of the Capitol.

Gale glances past Peeta, eyes focused on Katniss's house, before drifting to Peeta's house.

"Your light is still on, Mellark," Gale remarks, and Peeta turns back to his house in confusion.

"What?"

Then his blue eyes land on the large, front window, where his kitchen light is visible and clearly blazing bright.

"Shouldn't waste electricty. Lots of people don't have it for long, you know," Gale says, his voice sharp.

Annoyance strikes Peeta at the underlying accusations that are clear in Gale's words. Peeta knows that electricity is somewhat of a rare commodity; he's lived in District 12 for his life. Even if he is considered a Merchant, he has eyes, and he can see the misery of everyone in the District. But he doesn't say any of this, because it would only succeed in pissing Gale off even more, and Peeta is already so, so _late_.

"It'll be fine. I'm in a hurry anyway," Peeta says, making to walk past Gale. Gale scoffs as Peeta passes him, and the blond boy pauses as Gale begins to chuckle.

"You're a shitty liar, Mellark," Gale tells him, his eyes bright and angry, but there's something else in the gray irises that Peete recognizes, that he can identify with, that anger at the Seam boy dissipates slightly. But only a little; it's hard not to resent someone who the person you're in love with— potientally— loves instead.

"I don't understand," Peeta says quietly, turning around to face Gale. "I don't understand why you're here, why you're saying..."

"The Games," Gale says abruptly, something sparking in his eyes that make him look furious. "The Games. You kept her alive, you protected her when I couldn't... you're in love with Katniss. And I'm trying to hate you for it, god, I am fucking _trying_," Gale laughs a humorless, hollow laugh, his fingers curling into fists, "but I can't. All I can think about is how I should have volunteered— gone into the arena, because you're not the only one that loves her, Mellark."

Peeta silently looks at the Seam boy: at the flushed cheeks, the messy hair, the defiant scowl that's so similar to _hers_. But Gale's scowl is meaner somehow, colder and filled with hatred.

Peeta feels as though this is the time to offer words of how Gale did the best he could: he took care of the person that meant the most to Katniss. But he's tired of being the good guy, the guy people turn to for comfort but balk at the first sign of any weakness Peeta may show.

So he doesn't say anything, though he understands all too well the frustration of loving someone who is so unprepared for it, who runs from it.

"Then I guess that's you have a problem, Hawthorne, as it appears I'm the only one that's told her," Peeta says stiffly, burrowing his hands futher into his pockets. The gray eyes widen in surprise, and a quick flash of something Peeta can't really identify (is it worry? apprehension?), but the stricken look disappears, and a smile breaks out on the darker boy's face.

"Never even knew you had it in you, Peeta," Gale says, shaking his head and chuckling. "Guess you're not as good as you seem."

The words are sarcastic and mean, and Peeta thinks about all the reasons why Gale's words are true. Peeta flinches at the comment, and tips his head slightly as goodbye. He tries not to think about Gale as he quickly walks to the bakery, but he wonders why Gale was so hurried to find Katniss in the first place.

It probably has something to do with the reason why Katniss was sitting on his couch this morning, having let herself in two hours before while he was sleeping. She was lost in thought, curling into herself as her mind worked to process something. But Peeta hadn't asked, and they slipped into their routine.

Peeta finally bounds up the stairs at the back entrance of the bakery, nearly half an hour later than he should be. Bread is baking in the oven, and the fresh scent wafts to him as he hangs up his jacket and reaches for an apron.

"You're late," his father tells him, fingers buried in dough and flour. Peeta apologizes, tying the white apron behind him in a secure knot, and his father gives a knowing wink and smiles.

* * *

**A/N**: I might not post for a good week, so I'll post an additional chapter tonight. Let me know what you think about how Gale is portrayed, whether he is OOC, and please, please review, seeing as I'm posting 2 long chapters(:


	48. Chapter 48

Two and a half hours later he's still fretting over Katniss's reaction to the kiss, spurred by Rye's announcement Olive had come by earlier this morning, before school, looking for Peeta.

Besides the fact that Katniss can only handle being friends with him, Peeta had no right to kiss her because he's _dating Olive_.

He has a _girlfriend_, albeit one he is content with onla y seeing sporadically and even then in small doses, but Olive still believes them to be in a relationship. And he hasn't exactly discouraged that kind of thinking, and he feels guilty that he hasn't explained to her that he can't hang out with her as much as she'd like because he's spending most of his time with Katniss…

Peeta can't imagine that kind would go over well with Olive.

He's leaning against the counter in the store front, glaring at the register because there hasn't been a customer in the past fifteen minutes, leaving him all too much time to think about the stupid kiss and why it shouldn't have happened…

And really, it only happened because Peeta had gotten caught up in the homely feel of seeing Katniss in his house, talking with her about her hunting, painting, and just about their life and aspects of their District while he baked. He had foolishly gotten lost in the sense that just _being_ with her, enjoying spending time with her was _right_. That basking in her presence was _right_, and he wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere but with—

"God, Peeta, stop obsessing," Rye grumbles, entering the shop area of their bakery from the double doors that are against the back wall, a little off to the side from where the counter is. He's carrying another tray of cinnamon buns for the glass cases, carefully balancing the tray on one hand as he slides open the display case. Peeta sticks his tongue out at his brother, tapping his fingers against the side of the register.

"I am _not_ obsessing."

The look Rye shoots him shows that his older brother is clearly unimpressed.

"Whatever, Peet," Rye says, rolling his eyes as he sits on the counter next to the register.

A noise sounds from upstairs, followed by the noisy hum of their television spitting out ridiculous Capitol shows.

"Is she…" Peeta starts quietly, and Rye's blue eyes narrow as he glares at the ceiling.

"Yeah. She claims she's got another headache. Convenient that they all start around noon, huh?"

Peeta only swallows and tries to ignore the pain of _something_ that hits him in his chest. After years of being hated by his mother, one would think that he would rightfully hate her back. But it still hurts to know that she's avoiding him, even after he's come home from the bloodbath of the Games. Peeta knows she hates to look at his metal leg, and she barely addresses him anymore. Being shunned by his mother is somehow more painful than any injury she ever inflicted upon him.

Sometimes he wonders if she's sorry he came back at all.

A soft knock sounds from the back door, back where the ovens and their workplace are, cutting Peeta off before he can respond. Rye glances to the back, peering through the small circle windows of the doors leading back there, but all he can make out is a faint silhouette against the fabric pattern their mother had placed over the door.

With a sigh, Rye pushes himself off the counter, brushing his hands off. "Probably Brett. He's forgotten his key lately whenever he sneaks off to fucking wherever. I fucking swear, this is the absolute _last_ time I'm letting him back in."

Peeta snickers as Rye pushes the double doors open, not bothering to shut them. His older brother's grumbles echo back to him, causing Peeta to laugh a bit harder.

"Fucking _idiot_… remember the damn key next time…fucking _hell_... what a fucking _dumbass_."

Peeta can hear the distinct squeal of the back door being opened, and he traces circles onto the countertop as he waits to hear Rye let out a string of profanities to tease and chastise Brett. But he doesn't hear Rye's voice, and Peeta curiously glances toward the doors, wondering what's rendered Rye speechless.

A moment later Peeta understands, as Rye finally speaks.

"Well, fuck. You're not Brett."

* * *

**A/N:** I've always imagined one of Peeta's older brothers swearing this much.

And who is it? (Duh-duh-dunnnn!) Let me know who you think it is!


	49. Chapter 49

No," an all too familiar voice says, the tone clipped and tense, "I'm not… You're not Peeta."

"Do I have to be Peeta? You looking for him, or something?"

"…Or something."

"Well, I assure you, Ms. Everdeen, whatever you're looking for—"

"I'm sure you don't have," she coolly cuts in.

Peeta's eyes widen as he looks at the double doors, and he tenses when he hears Rye's chuckle. Ignoring the fact that his mother had always instructed him to never, under any circumstances, to leave the register unmanned, he makes to head to the back before Rye can do something to embarrass him, or worse, make her leave.

But Peeta briefly thinks about that day when his mother allowed him the responsibility of the register, and why she had repeatedly instructed him to never leave the bakery front empty. Because not everyone was decent, she told him. There were always the Seam brats to look out for, the bastard children that lived in poverty as they were raised as thieves.

It was one of the few times Peeta can remember his father seriously angry at his mother, snapping that Mrs. Mellark for trying to raise a child as prejudiced and hateful as her. She had shrieked back at him, her mouth sneering about Seam inhabitants, her lips curling over one name in particular.

_Everdeen_.

Peeta's father looked stricken for a moment, and then the shocked expression faded to one of slight exasperation and a generally tired look. At first Peeta was worried that Mrs. Mellark had somehow found out about his love for Katniss, and his father was only trying to protect the girl his youngest son loved. But his father never sent a glance his way.

"Don't start this again, Lucia."

His mother flushed, her pasty cheeks flaming a splotchy red, yet she managed to snarl, "And why not?"

Weary blue eyes directly met a pair of determined, irrational irises of blue.

"No matter how long we argue about this," Mr. Mellark said quietly, "the answer will still be the same."

His mother paled then, and without a word she rushed from the room, her fists clenched as they trembled. Peeta looked at his father, and for the first time he noticed the lines that decorated his father's face, the exhausted look on Mr. Mellark's face actually meaning something to Peeta. It was the first time he wondered if his father was happy.

He was seven, then.

"Katniss," Peeta says hurriedly, bolting through the doors as Rye laughs even louder. Peeta's eyes latch onto Katniss, and he sees the way she stands stiffly in the back doorway, though she has no reason to be uncomfortable as she's traded with his father on this back step countless times. But her back is rigid, her arms tightly crossed across her chest, and her eyes narrowed at Rye as her mouth presses into a flat line.

"Peeta."

"Hey, Peet," Rye says, turning to face his brother, and his chuckles eventually peter out. "Didn't know she was such a _charmer_."

Katniss' face flushes ever so slightly, and Peeta looks away from her long enough to glare at his older brother. "Rye—"

But before he can finish his empty threat, a bell from the front door chimes, and Rye flashes a bright smile. "Ooh, customer calls, Peeta."

He's gone before Peeta can yell at him, snap at him, or beg him to stay so he won't have to face the awkward confrontation that's sure to follow alone. They stand in silence for a moment, the only sound the hums of Rye's charismatic voice swindling a customer into buying more pastries. Peeta absently thinks of how it's difficult to tell if the customer is male or female. A high giggle follows Rye's muffled voice.

Female. Definitely female.

Peeta clears his throat and finally forces himself to stop avoiding her gaze, because it's stupid and childish and they're past all this—

And it was just a kiss, anyway, just a stupid kiss on the cheek. Why is he overanalyzing it? _Is_ he overreacting? Is she worrying about this, too, or—?

"The timer went off," Katniss blurts, and Peeta's blue eyes snap to her. She's still standing somewhat tensely, though she's leaning against the doorframe.

"Did you, um," Peeta stumbles over his words, unnerved by her apparent indifference over something that sent him running to the bakery three hours earlier. "Did you take out the—?"

Katniss shoots him a scornful look, tilting her head to the side while pressing her lips into a look that nearly makes him chuckle, and he would've, but he's still anxious over what she'll say…

"Of course I did."

Peeta can't help but chuckle at her tone, and Katniss offers a hesitant smile back. He can easily recognize the barely concealed expression on her face: she has something she wants to say, but no idea how to say it.

The bell dings again; the customer leaves, but Rye thankfully stays at the register.

"Katniss—"

He breaks off suddenly, blinking as he's slightly disarmed by how he doesn't know what to say either. Isn't this the part in those awful Capitol romance movies where they both rush to speak, and then nervously laugh over talking at the same time? Then they would plead for the other to go first, before finally he simply poured out his heart in a slew of loving words, explaining all that his heart desired, and he would wrap his arms around her and kiss her…

But what does his heart want?

He knows he loves her, but for the first time Peeta feels a small hole in the idea that's firmly rooted in his heart— something seems to be missing from the completely right feeling of loving her, despite never receiving her love back.

Maybe that's suddenly changed because he now has some sort of glimpse of what it means to be loved by her, and finally having a piece of what he's wanted for so long has almost pathetically made him all too eager for more.

"Um…"

She's still expectantly waiting for him to speak, and Peeta can see the shine of _something_ gleaming in her gray eyes as she curiously stares at him. He's going to do it, he thinks, he's finally going to tell her about everything, the morphine, the girls (well, maybe not _now_…) the way he's pined after her for so long…

… But it's all too soon, isn't it? He hasn't had time to properly think this out; he hasn't correctly assessed the risks, the benefits…

… And what will he say, anyway? Doesn't this type of thing require a well-planned speech, a practiced declaration of love?

Peeta stares into Katniss' eyes, suddenly frozen as he's faced with the chance to expose everything to her. It strikes him that he could get lost in those gray pools forever, forever trapped in that shade of gray that promises the sun is only lurking around the corner.

He opens his mouth once more, really, he's actually do it this time—

Then the thump from upstairs breaks his concentration, and Peeta's forced to acknowledge that now is simply not the place for this. Not with his mother just upstairs, preparing to come down shortly (he'd forgotten this is usually the time he takes "breaks" so his mother can continue to avoid him for as long as she could), and not with Rye almost definitely listening to their interaction.

"Katniss…"

Behind her, the distant sound of the school bell wafts into the bakery through the open door, and Katniss breaks her questioning gaze from his to look behind her.

"School's just let out," she states pointlessly, and he nods, unsure of what else to say.

Pause.

"Would you like to come with me? To get Prim?"

Peeta's lips involuntarily curl into a smile, though he didn't miss the way she hesitated to ask. "Of course," he answers, grinning, and it seems his smile is infectious for a small smile makes its way on Katniss' face too.

He shouts to Rye that he's heading out for a bit, to which his brother calls back something that sounds like "duck moo," but Peeta's already untying his apron and listening to Katniss animatedly describe how she managed with the bread by herself. Peeta notices something that flashes across her face as he pulls the door shut behind him, and the bewildered, disappointed look on her face is one he easily recognizes. He's worn it a few times, disappointed when his expectations weren't met.

_But what could she…?_

Peeta brushes the thought aside (maybe he imagined it?), focusing instead on her words. They walk through town, her speaking, him listening; her listening and him speaking, but Peeta can't shake the pang he feels in his chest as he thinks of the secrets he wanted— _needed_— to tell her.

He thinks of the kiss.

It's just another thing they won't discuss, Peeta sadly realizes, though his smile is bright. They won't mention it again: Katniss out of fear of loving someone, or some reason of the like; and Peeta out of fear that pushing her to recognize that they have something together— and that whatever this is between them is _real_— will make her leave.

So he doesn't say anything about these unstable topics, and she doesn't either.

Peeta can't deny that she's is walking closer to him than she ever has before, causing their fingers to brush every few steps or so, and it feels _right_.

They're about a block away from the school, their conversations reduced to talking about random, safe topics, and the small gaps of silence in their conversations don't seem awkward for once. Her fingers brush his as they continue to walk, once, twice…

…And then they stay, gently gripping his hand in hers.

Peeta smiles as he speaks, and entwines their fingers.

Katniss grins at whatever he says as they approach the school, and he laughs.

It strikes him that this is what love is supposed to be like.

This is what his _life_ is supposed to be like.

Happy, smiling, content, talking, laughing— all with _her_.

* * *

**A/N:** Wow… It has seriously been a while. So, so sorry! Things just got so out of control… And I've been having such an awful week…

This chapter was hard to write, and I don't even know why. Sorry about any errors, and again it may be a short interval until my next update. We'll see.

For those of you that predicted it was Katniss, congratumalations. For those of you that predicted someone else… kudos for thinking me above clichés, so thanks. :)

It's longer, cuz I feel a bit guilty for not updating in a while. Whoo! I realized only like 5-10 more chapters until this story progresses… so we're probably either halfway or a little more than halfway through. I don't know; I've lost my notes. (Another reason why this week sucked.)

And… Hmm… Oh! You know like in chapter 19? That whole review reward thing? Yeah, um… **Chelzie** has not yet responded for that, so please wait for those. I will eventually do it, but she has been super-busy… so if not, I'll pick my own chapters. Or a random reviewer. ***wink wink***

Review, please! They kind of make my day, or at least make me smile(:

If anyone has any questions (though I'm not sure what about…) feel free to leave me a review, or PM me, and if in review form make sure you mention you want the question answered. I'll see if I can answer it without giving away stuff… though really, I'm sure you're thinking, what could someone _possibly_ have questions about?

And happy Star Trek anniversary. (What? Goodness, why is she so lame? How does she _know_ that?)

Spent too much time showing that Google Star Trek thing to people. (And had way too much fun.)

Really Long Author's Note, huh?

—O


	50. Chapter 50

"Do you see her? I can't see her," Katniss says, and her grip on his fingers tightens almost painfully. Peeta glances around the courtyard of their District's middle and high school, eyes searching for Prim. He'd forgotten how crowded it gets right after school ends, but thankfully they had gotten there about five minutes after the final bell, and it wasn't as crowded as it could have been.

"She might still be in the building," Peeta suggests, though he has no wish to enter a place where they were fed the bullshit about the Games and the Capitol. After barely surviving the Games, the lies are somehow much harder to swallow. And from the flat look on Katniss' face he can tell she doesn't seem too thrilled to enter the school either.

"We can wait out here, for a bit," she tells him, and leads him to a worn picnic table from the grassy area in front of the school. They're shaded by the tree, and she only releases his hand to sit down. He swings his prosthetic leg over the bench, body angled to Katniss and facing her as she continues to worriedly glance around the front yard of the school.

"Katniss," he says, hesitantly touching her face to make her look at him. She seems surprised by the contact, but her gaze stays locked with his.

"She's fine. She's probably talking to her friends, or something."

Katniss looks as though she doesn't believe him, and Peeta explains how he would sometimes linger in the school to talk to his friends, too. He realizes that she probably left as quickly as she could, trying to get as much hunting in as she could. That explains why he never saw her after the final bell, most days. He shifts closer to her, legs still straddling the bench, and she curiously looks at him when he reaches for her hand.

"She'll be out in a moment, Katniss," Peeta tells her, smiling at her as their fingers mold around each other's. She doesn't say anything and miserably tries to appear unworried.

Peeta wonders what makes her so antsy about Prim being late, and why Katniss is so worried that her sister isn't outside as soon as school ended. He knows Katniss loves the little blond girl immensely, he knows she would do anything for Prim, but why is Katniss out on edge if Prim is only a few minutes late.

"I'm not crazy," Katniss says randomly, angling her body to his while managing to avoid his gaze.

"I know," Peeta says quietly, though he's still uncertain as to what has made Katniss afraid of her sister being late.

"I'm not," she insists, pulling her hands from his to pick at the hem of her long-sleeved blue shirt. He doesn't say anything at first, only stares as she continues to pull at her shirt.

"I know," Peeta tells her, tracing lines on the wooden bench. There's a piece missing, and he's careful to avoid the splinters. Katniss looks up at him, before throwing her leg over the bench to straddle it too, so they're facing each other more directly. She folds her legs on the bench, pretzel style, and Peeta notices this managed to put her closer to him.

"It's just that..." she begins, and then stops. Katniss picks at the bench, too, and she looks up at him again. "The Games, Peeta. After the Games..."

"The Games? What do the Games have to do with anything?" Peeta says, his voice tight as he's reminded of the horrors of the Hunger Games, and of course he thinks of all the lies and nights afterward, the endless nights of her in his bed...

"Peeta—" Katniss starts again, a desperate look appearing in her eyes. Peeta looks away from her pleading gray eyes, unable to bear the apology for all the kisses, the touches he had thought were somewhat sincere, and his gaze falls on the opening door of the school.

"She's coming out now," Peeta says distractedly, trying to hold back the hurt and ignore the familiar ache of tears, of dreams being crushed once more, and instantly Katniss stops talking, her attention directed to her sister. Peeta doesn't look at Katniss, though his mind is racing to understand whatever connection the Games may have to Prim, pushing past— more like ignoring— the pain of loving someone who'll probably never love him. Peeta remembers Katniss telling him about how President Snow wasn't happy about the berries; he remembers his prep team's whispers about something happening to the Gamemaker, but what...?

"Who is that next to her?" Katniss says, bristling slightly, and Peeta is still staring into space as he tries to understand why she's so antsy.

"Rory Hawthorne, I'm assuming," Peeta murmurs, turning his gaze to Katniss, and he notices the rigid set to her back. Katniss' eyes are narrowed, her jaw clenched as she stares at whoever the offending person is.

"That's not Rory," she snaps, folding her arms. "I don't know who it is."

Peeta shifts slightly and looks at the old stairs, an annoyed curiosity forcing him to do so, and is faintly surprised when he sees it is a Merchant boy with Prim, not Rory Hawthorne.

"Oh," Peeta says, the mild surprise escalating as he recognizes the boy.

* * *

**A/N**: Gosh, it's been like forever…

Never meant for so much time to go by… so sorry about any errors. Maybe I should find one of those people that proofread thingies. Anyway, quick note to **RR13**: thanks for your PM. I don't think I would have updated today if you hadn't sent me that. :)

Also: I listened to Emeli Sandé's song "**River"** a bunch while writing this and the next chapter. I highly recommend it. Also, for the Katniss POV moments from certain chapters: leave what you want in review, anyone, and I'll see if I can do it!

—O


	51. Chapter 51

"Do you know him?"

"It's Jensen," Peeta says. "His dad owns the sweet store."

This doesn't seem to appease Katniss, who continues to suspiciously glare at the brown-haired teen.

Peeta can hear Prim's clear laugh from his seat at the picnic table, and he notices the way the Jensen's eyes watch Prim while the boy laughs. Peeta's eyes widen slightly as he watches Prim touch Jensen's arm, and he suddenly realizes why Prim is so late.

She's _flirting_.

Jensen says something else to Prim, and they walk down the stairs just as the school doors open again. Rory bounds out of the doors, a large smile on his face fading as he sees Prim and Jensen talking, laughing, and Peeta can see the way the younger boy clenches his fists as he pushes past Prim and Jensen. Prim looks at Rory, startled at first, but as she recognizes the Seam boy something darker flashes across her face that Peeta doesn't recognize. But he notices the way Prim laughs a bit louder, and she even nudges Jensen's arm before the Merchant leaves, telling him something as she winks. The Merchant boy laughs, and grins so widely Peeta knows that the boy is _whipped_.

Katniss curiously stares at Jensen when he walks away from Prim, a large smile still lighting his face as he runs his hand over his brown hair. Katniss tears her eyes from Jensen to questioningly look at Peeta.

"I guess her and Jensen..." Peeta starts, set on explaining, and then awkwardly trails off, shrugging the universal sign for the filler of _you know_.

"Jensen—?" Katniss says, and Peeta can tell she's trying to piece together the boy's relationship to Prim without ever considering the possibility romance. _Katniss isn't one to immediately think that, is she?_ Peeta mildly thinks, and immediately he attempts to mentally shake the thought away.

"But I thought her and Rory..." Peeta says instead, genuinely puzzled, and Katniss stares at him with confusion, too. Peeta looks at Katniss imploringly, gesturing for her to clarify the younger Hawthorne's relationship to Prim. But this only seems to baffle Katniss more, and she tilts her head to the side as she returns the befuddled gaze.

"Rory?" she repeats.

Peeta shakes his head, suddenly mindful of just who Katniss is and her aversion to love and relationships. He can't imagine she would appreciate that Prim seems to be caught in her own love triangle, and with Gale's brother, nonetheless...

And from the clouded look in her gray eyes Peeta's certain she still doesn't understand, and he can't help but grin at her cluelessness. He recognizes all too well the hurt look on Rory's face, the broken expression one of realizing that no matter how strong the feelings, they would never be returned. But Prim's expression… her faint scowl…

"Forget it, Katniss," Peeta tells her, chuckling at the petulant look on her face. Katniss pokes his arm, frowning when he only continues to laugh.

"You're not very nice," she says, and Peeta shakes his head and grins at her, his lips curling into a smirk as she looks away, her own mouth unwillingly turning up in a smile. She's staring at the school, he's assuming, but Peeta can only look at her. A breeze blows, and the errant strands of hair that managed to escape her braid shift with the wind. Katniss' lips are still caught in a small smile, and the sunlight manages to fall through the leaves of the tree above them in just the right way to cast a glow on her dark skin, highlighting the lightness of her gray eyes.

She's absolutely, brilliantly, entirely— fucking _beautiful_.

Peeta watches this new side of Katniss that only lately has been revealed to him, and he revels in the fact that for the moment, she's completely _his_. The splinters that she had jammed into his heart seem to fall away, the cuts seem to heal, and he's _happy_. He's happy, sitting with her here, now— it makes him so goddamned _overjoyed_ that it's all too easy to forget the pain she's put him through. It's all too easy to let the rest of the world fall away, to forget about the Capitol, the Games, Gale, their District, her seemingly inability to love, the fact that he was _ever_ miserable—

Katniss' smile widens at something that he doesn't bother to look at, and the spark in her eyes seems to burn even brighter. Peeta finds his own lips stretching, too, mirroring her happiness.

It probably isn't right that her happiness has such an effect on Peeta's; it probably isn't _fair_ seeing as Katniss' happiness is unaffected by his.

But Peeta can't find it in him to care right not. Not when she's like this— not when she glances back at him, that special sparkle in her eyes never dimming— not when she's open to him, inviting him in, and letting him love her.

It's a moment he wishes would never end.

* * *

**A/N:** I'd really appreciate it if you guys reviewed! It helps when you guys let me know what you think of each chapter, and it helps me make these chapters better and refine my writing in general. And motivates me. Also, seeing as no one really responded... I'm accepting **four different reviewer's **requests for chapters from Katniss' POV. Unless the reason no one responded is because no one is interested in that...? :(

And happy **50th chapter**. Whoo-hoo.


	52. Chapter 52

But of course these moments with her always end.

A voice behind him distracts him, the voice reminding him that no matter how right he may find this moment, it isn't, not entirely. Now is not the time to stare at the girl the whole District knows pretended to love him. Katniss' smile widens, and Peeta tries to force himself to look away from her. He manages, but his eyes drift back to her in a matter of seconds.

"Sorry I took so..."

Prim trails off as she sees how close her sister and Peeta are, just how Peeta can't seem to look away from Katniss, and Peeta flushes as a knowing look creeps into Prim's blue eyes.

"Um, hey, Prim," Peeta says, desperately trying to stop the blush that's steadily sneaking up his cheeks. Katniss doesn't notice the redness of his cheeks, her eyes locked on her sister.

"Peeta," Prim greets properly, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. She glances at Katniss, who takes the moment to pounce. For once Peeta's grateful for her obliviousness, relieved that even though Prim understands all too well about his emotions, Katniss will probably never grasp the depth.

The thought meant to comfort him makes him wince.

"So what are you two doing together, here, anyway?" Prim asks casually, and Peeta can only stare at the younger girl, mute. She really beats around the bush, doesn't she?

Katniss' eyes narrow at the question, and Peeta tells himself to only look at Prim, to not give in to his masochistic curiosity to see why Katniss hasn't answered the question yet.

"I was at the bakery, earlier, and we were talking— so I asked him if he wanted to walk with me," Katniss stiffly answers, and Peeta can tell Prim is about to say something else to mortify her sister even more, so he abruptly stands, surprising both Prim and Katniss.

"What were you and Jensen talking about, anyway?"

Prim blushes, glancing at her sister as she stammers out an answer.

"You were what?" Peeta asks, mimicking the blond girl's casual tone from earlier, but before Prim can respond a familiar voice calls his name. Peeta looks around the emptying school yard in confusion, searching for the cause of his name, when his name is shouted again, louder this time, and a different voice, too.

"Peeta!" Delly cries, bounding over to him as she rounded the corner of the school. She flings her arms over his shoulders and pulls him into a hug.

"Delly," Peeta says, chuckling as he hugs her back. He can feel Katniss stand next to him, her arm brushing his as she smiles slightly at Delly.

"You don't come by anymore," Delly accuses, frowning at him as she pulls away. "Vito misses you."

She turns to Katniss and Prim, ignoring whatever response Peeta planned on making.

"How are you Katniss? I haven't seen you or Peeta in a while, especially not together. Is it true that Jensen likes you, Prim? Did you know that his mom's brother was in the Games before? I feel awful; I forgot, Katniss, I'm so sorry..."

"Delly, slow down," Peeta cautions, avoiding Katniss' gaze. But he can't help himself, and his eyes dart to the Seam girl. Instead of the angry, wounded look he expected to see, her eyes are alight with amusement at Delly, and a gentle smile tugs at her lips.

Katniss looks at him, too, and she motions for Prim to follow her.

"We'll let you two catch up," Prim says, smiling at Delly as Katniss pulls her away from the Peeta and Delly

"Did you same my name, earlier?" Peeta asks, once Katniss and Prim are no longer within earshot of them. Delly looks confused, and she shakes her head in response.

"What? Yeah, I said it before I hugged you."

"No, before that," Peeta persists, his eyes never leaving Delly's face as he scans her features for the truth. He feels as though he's forgetting something important, and he doesn't like the feeling one bit.

"No... But are you and Katniss back together now? I'm happy for you, Peeta!"

Peeta decides to about the voice later and just laughs as she continues to chatter about random things, and although he wonders if Katniss is still waiting for him, he makes himself focus on Delly and her mindlessly happy words.

"How's Rye?" she asks, and there's something different about her tone that makes him glance at her sharply.

"He's fine," Peeta answers curiously, and Delly's cheeks are tinged pink.

"And Brett?" she hurriedly asks, and Peeta answers this too, completely forgetting the other voice that said his name, and wondering what was so different about the way Delly mentioned Rye.

"You should go," Delly suggests minutes later. "I don't know your bakery schedule anymore, Peet, and I'm sure Katniss is still waiting for you, so I'll let you leave now."

Delly winks at Peeta, and Peeta grins back.

"You should come by sometime, Peeta," Delly insists as he begins to walk away. "You know how much Vito looks up to you."

"Or you could come by," Peeta suggests to his childhood friend, and he doesn't miss the way she reddens slightly.

"Or that," she says weakly for reasons Peeta doesn't understand.

Peeta says his goodbyes, and she responds with hers, and as he walks down the road to head back to the main street of town, disappointment floods him.

So Katniss hadn't waited for him, then. Peeta tells himself that it shouldn't sting this much that she hadn't waited, because he's not supposed to love her anymore, goddamn it. His weak moment, earlier, watching Katniss as avidly as he had, wouldn't happen again, it couldn't...

"Gosh, Mellark, could you slow down a bit?"

Peeta's gaze snaps to the previously empty space beside him, and he's surprised when he sees Katniss grinning up at him as she nudges his arm.

"Katniss," he says, and stops walking to stare. Katniss stops too, and her smile dims slightly as she she peers up at him.

"You didn't think I'd just leave, did you?"

Peeta doesn't answer, and Katniss takes his silence as his response. She looks at some point past him, and he can see the wheels turning in her head, but he can't tell what she's thinking. He's usually able to read her so well, but he's just so uncertain when it comes to her feeling toward him. Katniss clears her throat, and she directs her gaze to their feet.

"You still owe me a cheese bun," Katniss says hurriedly, and she looks up at him and grins. "I don't work for free."

He laughs at this, shaking his head, and wishes that he didn't always over think things.

"And besides... I thought I'd stay for dinner with you. If the offer still stands."

Peeta grins at her, and slides his hand in hers, and revels in the way Katniss welcomes the contact by squeezing his fingers.

"Of course," he says, and he can't help but love the way she leans on him, talking and laughing as they walk home.

* * *

**A/N:** So... only 2 more chapters, then moving into Catching Fire. Yeah.

Alright, so a lot of responses are kind of against me rewriting a chapter in Katniss' POV, but I think I will later do a quick bit in Katniss' POV and post it seperately. Alright, I'm a little lost right now as to the direction of this story, cuz my notes have suspiciously gone missing. So please let me know if there's anything wrong with the direction of this story, why you think so, or maybe even leave a review with ideas of what you think should happen. I know what I want to happen... but it's always great to hear other responses. So... yeah.

Again, sorry about any errors... and the climax of my story is coming up! Huzzah!

Please review.

—O


	53. Chapter 53

Two weeks later there's a change in their routine: Peeta surprises her one afternoon, his dad having allowed him the day off. She smiles and ushers him in, explaining she was just about to head to the woods.

Peeta sheepishly glances at the bag on his shoulder, and Katniss curiously peers at it.

"What's that?" she asks, and Peeta slides it down his arm to show her the contents.

"I thought I'd show you how to paint, you know, or something like that," Peeta tells her, and from the pensive look on her face he can't quite tell if this was a good idea.

"That would be nice," she says carefully, leading him to the large dining table, and Peeta glances around her house, trying to remember if he's ever properly looked around. It's set up quite similarly to his, though he notes his kitchen is much larger, equipped with better baking tools.

He spreads the paintings supplies across the table, pointing to each one and offering a short explanation of what is the best to use when trying to draw certain things.

"These are pastels..."

Katniss attentively listens to him, focusing on each piece that he speaks of. He offers her the drawing pencils to start with, explaining the different shades.

A low rumble sounds from outside, and they both look at the darkening sky.

"I hope the rain holds out," Katniss says, though it doesn't sound as though she really thinks it will. Peeta shrugs, unconcerned.

"It's the weekend. Prim won't have to walk home in the rain."

Pause.

"Where is she, anyway?"

"With one of her friends in town. I think she plans on staying over."

Peeta doesn't comment on the flat tone of her words, and instead tries to make conversation as he watches her quietly draw. The absolute silence of her house bothers him for some reason he doesn't understand, especially because his house is usually this quiet. He briefly thinks of why she's alone, where her mother might be, but he flinches at the thought of Mrs. Everdeen. He hasn't seen her since she helped him recover, and because of that he sees no reason to break that streak.

He looks out the window, thinking of town and walking there after leaving her in his house to watch the oven, knowing she would be there when he returned...

"How's Gale?" he blurts out, and from the way she instantly stiffens he can tell this was the very, very wrong thing to say.

"As well as you can expect him to be," she answers testily, and he knows that the challenge in her voice is one he isn't supposed to rise to, but Peeta's never liked feeling confused, stupid, or weak, and he can't help but ask her.

"As well as I can expect...?"

"He works in the mines now," she snaps, and Peeta wants to smack himself for asking. The mines are a sensitive subject for her, he knows, and he tries to respond accordingly.

"I'm sorry, Katniss, I forgot—"

She clenches the pencil in her hands, and Peeta doesn't understand the suddenly stormy look on her gray eyes.

"I'm sure he doesn't forget, Peeta," she says sharply, and his blue eyes narrow at her words.

"I didn't realize—"

"Really, Peeta, where else would Gale go? He can't just take over the family business like some people can."

The harshness of the words is too prominent, and Peeta can feel anger beginning to simmer in his chest, but he can't help but think she's only parroting someone else's words back to him.

"Katniss, I didn't—"

"It isn't fair, Peeta," Katniss cuts in, throwing down the pencil in her hand. It rolls over to him, poking him with the tip.

"It isn't fair that people that live in the Seam have to work in those— mines, forced underground, when people like—"

Katniss abruptly stops, her face flushed and her eyes wide as if she's realized all that she's said, and to whom. Peeta states at her, frozen, and he watches her panicked reaction, quiet.

Inside it feels as though everything that defines him is crumbling, as if everything he thought she felt for him is suddenly just another big joke. And if he doesn't know what she feels about him, what she thinks about him— then who is he, really?

Who is he if he isn't Peeta Mellark, the boy who's loved Katniss Everdeen since childhood?

"People like what, Katniss?" he asks softly, still staring at her as they sit beside each other at the table.

"Peeta—"

"People like _what_?"

She silently looks at him, really looks, and she lowers her gaze a moment later, resigned. Thunder rumbles again from outside, and the steady sound of rain pounds against the windows, the roof.

"People like you."

"When people like me, _what_, Katniss?" Peeta says sharply, and the amount of anger behind his words is too strong for this error. He knows this, but he doesn't care. It's as if all the anger he continually works to suppress, to ignore is rushing out now; all the frustration and fury Katniss has made him feel as she yanks him around, deciding to like him, erratically choosing to ignore him, then back again—

Katniss stares at him, her eyes wide at the meanness of his tone, and Peeta hates it.

He hates her for twisting him around, pretending to love him; he hates her for seeking him for comfort; he hates that he gave it to her; he hates how she ignored him— smiled at him— randomly became his friend— made him think they could be something _more_—

He hates it, he hates it, he fucking _hates_ it.

Peeta hates how she has this much control over him and he can't do a thing about it.

He's out of the chair in a second; his throat tight as he wonders— _seethes_— over how things could be so _wrong_.

"This was a mistake," he says, his fists tight, and he doesn't bother to gather his supplies. And maybe it was. Maybe it was a mistake to think that this, whatever _this_ is, between them could work. That the special something he thought they shared could be repaired, even though Katniss wrecked it.

It was a mistake to pretend that all those times she hurt him never existed.

The anger he felt begins to drain away, somewhat, and as it recedes the same tiredness he feels after trying to deal with the emotional scars she's left stings him.

"Peeta, wait—" Katniss is standing now, reaching for him as a panicked look makes her gray eyes glassy.

Peeta's suddenly so fucking _furious_ at these words that it surprises him, but he doesn't linger over his surprise.

_Wait._

He always would have. He would have fucking _waited_ for her even if the fucking world was ending and he should have been running to someone that loved him. He's always waited for her to realize she loves him. He's always waited for her to just finally _care_.

_Wait._

Peeta doesn't.

* * *

**A/N:** Part One of the climax! Please, review, and I have to admit that it does inspire me to update faster. Also, I'd really appreciate many reviews for this chapter because I was a bit unsure of it…

(Does the increase in swearing bother people?)

...But really, your reviews would mean a lot to me. I wanted to wait a bit longer to post this (until I completely finished the next part) but I feel guilty over not updating in a while. Also, I am working on a oneshot/small mult. chapter story to help me figure out where to take _Like Crazy_ and to help 'inspire' me. So keep an eye out for that, yeah?


	54. Chapter 54

The rain hits Peeta as soon he slams her front door behind him, and almost instantly he regrets leaving her.

He shouldn't have gotten so angry, he should have stayed...

He clenches his jaw as he walks down the porch stairs, refusing to regret his anger and his actions. He can't; he can't go back to letting her push him away then pull him back whenever she felt like it.

The sky rumbles again and Peeta looks up, and the rain slips down his body and drenches his clothes. He can't go back to that— he can't go back to the bleak existence he lived when there was still a slight chance she would love him and she simply refused to. Peeta's sure that if he suffers like that again— loving, waiting, thinking, hurting— there'll be nothing left of him.

"Peeta!"

He's already started toward his house, his back to Katniss' home, when the door slams again and her voice sounds. Don't turn around, he instructs himself, and as he tries to convince himself to keep walking the urge to listen to her pulls at him too, and Peeta finds himself standing still, unsure of what to do.

Her fingers curl into the back of his shirt, and Peeta stiffens at the contact and wrenches his wet shirt from her grasp, sharply turning to face her.

Katniss' gray eyes are wild, her clothes also stick to her body, and the black strands of hair that are free of her braid are plastered to her face.

"What, Katniss?" Peeta finally says, desperately trying to cling to his receding anger as he finally breaks the silence between them, as it's apparent she has no plans to.

"I didn't mean what I—"

At this his anger is refueled, her words like wood thrown to a dying fire. He's taken more lies— more mistakes— more of her shit than he should have ever had to, and now he just can't stomach her lies, can't wait for her to just realize what he's felt all along— it isn't healthy; it isn't right.

"You meant every word of what you said," he snarls as rain runs down his nose. "You meant every _word_, Katniss. Don't lie."

"Peeta—" Her gray eyes are still large and pleading with him to fucking understand that she does need him, and she does care about him, but Peeta could be wrong. He could be completely wrong because he doesn't know what she thinks, how she feels, because he's been fooled by her so many times...

"I can't do this anymore, Katniss. You can't just yank me around like— like I'm your puppet. I'm not your whipping boy that you decide to be nice to whenever it suits you— whenever you decide that you can finally find it in you to _pretend_ to care about me— and I just can't, Katniss, I can't!"

Katniss gapes at him, and her eyes seem to shine as the water still falls between them. Peeta can't stand to look at the utterly shocked look on her face, for it only painfully reminds him of the impenetrable gap between them, the divide she's unwilling to cross.

And after the Games Katniss could have at least _tried_.

She could have tried to be friends with him. She could have tried to help him through the nightmares; she could have helped him recover from the horrors without drowning him in her pain. She could have tried to let him know that someone understood him, understood what he went through, and would never let him fight the depths of his pain alone.

And the fact that she didn't try any of these things hurts; it fucking hurts more than it should, especially because she's already shown him to expect absolutely nothing from her. Peeta feels like a fool for not learning to hate all that Katniss is. He's never liked feeling incompetent, and it's because of her he does. Rage swells in him as he stares at the gray eyes that reflect the sky, and Peeta cuts her off before she has the chance to say anything.

"I can't live like this— I can't just wait around so you can decide that we might actually have something, whatever the hell it is— you just can't use me whenever you want, whenever you need to feel better— because I hurt too, Katniss," he shouts, his fingers clenched into fists at his side, and she only watches him with that inscrutable look in her eyes, "I fucking _hurt_ and it hurts— it _hurts_— that you don't care; that you didn't care when you were sneaking out of my bed at dawn because I couldn't help you during the day with everyone watching; all I was to you was a warm body that was in the Games too and could understand what you went through. I was in pain, I was hurting, and you didn't care, and it was like you would never care— and I was moving on, I was— and now you're here with me, and we're friends, and all I ever wanted was you, and all you ever wanted was to forget!"

Peeta's eyes sting with tears and he can see that her face is wet, though from just the rain or her own tears he can't tell. Everything he's felt since the Games is a jumbled mess, and at the center he knows the root of the problem lies at the center: Katniss.

She steps closer to him, and the shocked look in her eyes is bleeding away replaced by the fire he's loved since he saw her stick up for a Merchant girl that was being bullied; it's the fire that convinced him she was perfect for him at a mere twelve years old. Peeta hates that when she's like this he thinks she's stunning.

"I'm sorry, Peeta, I'm sorry I don't know how to do this— I'm no good at stuff like this, at friendship and relationships and I'm sorry I hurt you; I'm sorry I kept coming back and— and I didn't know what to do," Katniss screams back, and Peeta can hear the frustration in her voice as she speaks, her eyes flashing with something akin to fury. "I saw the nightmares, the mutts— and I wanted someone that understood because no one else really did; I'm sorry you can't forget and I'm sorry I hurt you, Peeta—"

Something inside Peeta flickers, challenging the anger stewing inside him and making the tips of his ears warm. It's a thought that can't be ignored, and Peeta finds himself tuning her out and focusing on just everything Katniss is instead.

She's mid-rant, he knows this isn't allowed, and yet he kisses her.

It's the first kiss he can remember not being spurred by love or a need to offer her comfort; it's the first kiss he knows is fueled by anger.

It feels good, Peeta thinks as her lips tentatively move against his own. It feels good to finally let out his frustration on her in a way that they both recognize, in a way that isn't violent or leads to more despair for him. This is easier: they've been close like this before, intimacy already established, and it feels good to have no hidden agenda to why they're kissing.

It feels amazing to have her respond like this.

As Katniss grips the wet strands of his hair with her fingers, their tongues meeting in such a way that his thoughts go a bit hazy, it doesn't occur to Peeta that kissing her isn't the best idea, not with what spurred this kiss. He's too lost in the small noises Katniss makes as he pulls her soaked body closer to his own drenched one to care, and his fingers grip her hips tightly as the rain continues to slide down their bodies.

He deepens the kiss and Katniss doesn't protest; her fingers drift down his neck, the buttons of his shirt, moving to rest on the clasp of his jeans...

Peeta groans and he just can't think, all he can do is feel— and he's moving her backwards and pushing her towards her house, pulling her up the porch stairs as her hands continue to rove over his body, searching, searching, searching.

He's angry at her and he really should just pull away, but the release this offers is faster, better than silently sulking while she continues to be happy. Peeta nips at her lips and Katniss gasps as she pulls away, her cheeks feverish. Her gray eyes are startlingly clear as they stare at him, and Peeta wildly looks back at her disheveled hair, her pink lips, the gray eyes trained on him. He watches her fingers drift to the door as she presses herself against the side of her house, and for a second he's shocked— the rain continues to pound against the porch awning, heavily pelting the earth— and it's hard to think as the rain continues to bite at his clothes. It's ridiculous: the rain is wet and cold yet he still feels too warm, too heated, too passionate—

"Upstairs," Katniss says quietly, and the look in her gray eyes suddenly doesn't seem so indecipherable anymore. It's a look he can remember staring back at him as he tiredly looked at the mirror; the look he would always wear before she knocked at his door all those weeks ago, desperate and afraid and alone. He had given in, comforted her through those intimate touches that only made him hurt even worse.

But Katniss looks at him now, recognizing the need to help him, to save him. Peeta's mouth drops open slightly, but the heat in his chest doesn't cool as he waits for her to admit that this is another joke, another ploy to harass him about his undying love for her. Her gray eyes never waver from his, though, and despite this Peeta just can't say yes. Saying yes would only make trying to move on from her harder; saying yes would only result in him hurting.

"I— I can't."

Katniss flushes at this, and that stubborn look creeps into her eyes as her fingers latch onto the wet fabric of his shirt.

"Peeta...?"

Peeta swallows, and his anger from earlier wavers as she looks at him vulnerably, pleadingly. He's wanted this for so long, he's wanted her to want him for reasons beyond the nightmares, and it's some sort of irony that when he finally gets what he wants it's suddenly not enough.

"I want it to be real," he answers, and her eyes stay glued on his as he allows himself to be pulled a bit closer to him.

"It is," she tells him softly, and the emotions that flare up at these words are a mix between frustration, fury, and happiness. He can't tell if she's lying to him; he terribly wishes that she isn't; he's suddenly so fucking tired of trying to avoid his feelings for her and move on and pretend he's fucking fine when he _isn't_ fucking fine, because he hasn't been fine since she admitted her love was an act, he hasn't stopped hurting since she stopped coming by at night— he's hardly been able to sleep— and being with her during the day just isn't enough because he always wonders who she spends her nights with, if she's really with Gale; he can't fucking stop thinking about her, he can't stop loving her— it was pointless to even try— and he's so tired; he's so goddamned tired some days it hurts to even think of continuing to live; but then she's there, smiling, happy, talking, laughing, _real_.

Peeta doesn't know if this moment is real; he doesn't know if she'll go back to ignoring him. But he wants this last moment with her; he desperately needs it so he can finally convince himself to move on after experiencing one thing with her that means something. Peeta wants to forget he ever felt for her— it's be easier, damn, it'd be so much easier— but he can't, he just can't fucking forget—

"I can't," he says aloud, and the look in her eyes begins to fade right before he presses his mouth to hers. She quickly responds, her fingers twisting the doorknob as her mouth molds to his. They nearly fall in when she pushes the door open with her hip, but they catch each other just in time.

In her room things seem to slow down— the passion is still there, but it's as if she recognizes that what they're doing means something, that this is real. Their kisses are intense, exploring, their bodies in sync as their hands divest each other of their wet clothing. She carefully pulls off his shirt, her eyes dark and caught staring into his as he heatedly watches her. He pulls her shirt over her head; their breaths mingle; Peeta pushes her against the wall; her bare, damp legs wind around his hips as he presses his mouth to hers, his hands resting on the simple white of her undergarments; he pulls away briefly to stare into her darkened eyes, but quickly Katniss kisses him—

The only light comes from the large window that's parallel to her bed, and the rain still incessantly pounds against the house. Katniss' kisses become more heated and their movements more frenzied as they somehow make their way to her bed, still pushing at each other for dominance, willing the other to submit, and Peeta unexpectedly thinks about finally finding a safe haven, a home, to always protect him from the storm.

**A/N:** Wow, wow! The response to last chapter…! I'm hoping for more this chapter(:

Verrrrrrry difficult to write. Also, I can't write smut and I heard they're cracking down about ratings anyway…? I think this is my longest chapter! It's already long so I decided to split it into another chapter, but I do consider this the climax of _Like Crazy_. Is anyone still interested in the bonus posted in ch. 46? Let me know, please. And go check out my new little fic-thingie, if you can. It is titled _Alius Casus_, and I'd really appreciate it. It's still about PeetaxKatniss, so don't worry. I am still dedicated to _Like Crazy_; _AC_ will just be my little side-project. :)


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N:** If you loved the last chapter, I think you may hate me now. I know my A/N are always at the end, so look for the bottom one, too. I recommend listening to Lykke Li's version of "Will You Love Me Tomorrow?" and the acoustic version of her song, "Tonight."

* * *

The view of her sleeping, peaceful face greets him when his eyes sleepily blink open, and at first Peeta can't remember where he is. This doesn't disturb him, though; for a reason he doesn't quite grasp yet he feels safe, warm, content. A fuzzy, happy feeling still traps him in his sleepy haze as he slowly blinks in the bright sunlight from the large window, and Peeta gradually realizes this is not his bed, it is Katniss next to him, and this is most definitely not his house.

Peeta gently sits up, and the white sheet slides down his naked chest. Suddenly the events of last night strike him, and with a tumult of emotions Peeta looks at the— hopefully— still sleeping Katniss.

One of the most prominent emotions he feels is shame. Complete and utter shame for his actions, for kissing her out of anger—

Peeta rubs at his eyes as she continues to sleep, and despite the shame Peeta can't deny the rays of happiness that peer through the cracks of such negativity. Katniss had let him in, made him feel less alone, let him love her...

A grin pulls at Peeta's lips before it is quickly wiped away, his blue eyes widening with horror.

It wasn't love they had made last night, was it? Not once in the three times they completed each other. He hadn't been loving, gentle like he promised he would if he ever got the chance to be with her again.

Instead he had used her.

He had used Katniss' body as if she was like all the other girls, the warm bodies he had clung to in effort to forget her. He's suddenly terrified that when she wakes she'll force him from her bed, declaring him disgusting, screaming that she hates him...

Peeta stares at her thin, curled fingers on the pillow, remembering them ghosting over his face, trailing across the planes of his body when she kissed his neck, whispering something he couldn't quite catch. Last night he had still loved her; now he still loves her and is certain she hates him instead.

He would too, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he hate her if she kissed him from a need to erase a feeling, if she led him to his bed, had sex with him out of something that was so far from love?

But she did all of this, didn't she?

Hadn't Katniss kissed him first all those nights, spurred by the nagging need to forget her pain, to pretend she wasn't alone? Hadn't Katniss walked upstairs, lain across his bed, kissed him, slept with him, fucked him— left him completely alone the next morning because of an emotion that was not love?

The anger from last night is dulled, but Peeta finds that it burns him all the same. Quietly he slides from her bed, the white sheets gliding across his naked body as he desperately tries to not disturb her. Peeta doesn't know what to do if she wakes; if her gray eyes pin him with that piercing gaze, wouldn't it be difficult to leave? His clothes are scattered across her room, and as silently as possible Peeta tries to gather them, ignoring the way Katniss seems to curl into the warm spot he had just vacated. Her fingers curl into the soft pillow, seeking the warm body she won't find.

He's done.

Blue eyes glance at the window, and Peeta notes the bright sun of the late morning. The sunshine after the storm, the rainbow after the storm...? Peeta can't remember the expression, and when his gaze drifts back to the sleeping figure burrowed between the sheets he doesn't care.

Peeta's finally moved on.

_Lies._

He's lying to himself if he thinks it's true; the words even sound false in his thoughts. Somehow she's impossible to forget; for some reason he just can't move on, throw his heart into a new relationship with Olive—

The small gasp that escapes Peeta can't help. Weeks spent trying to avoid Olive guilt him; he's cheated on her, hasn't he? Isn't this betrayal? Feigning a complete interest in her, leading her on… isn't that exactly what Katniss did to him; isn't that why he was hurt, crushed by her admittance of never loving him?

Peeta hurriedly finds his jeans, yanking them on as quickly as he can. It's different in his case, he tries to tell himself. It's different concerning Olive, because… because… because he wanted to care about Olive, he wanted to love her. Katniss only wanted to survive.

It's flimsy, weak, but Peeta shoves the thought from his mind as he tugs his shirt over his head, grabbing his jacket from the chair in the room. Although he tells himself that really, it's an _awful_ idea to look back at her sleeping figure before he leaves, he does so anyway.

He can easily make out the curves of her chest, pressed to the soft covers as she sleepily burrows into the bed. Her black hair is tangled with sleep, the sun gently falls on her face, and the look of a settled, peaceful happiness curls her lips slightly, and makes her face seem more open, free.

She's beautiful.

The urge to crawl back into her bed, kiss her awake, make love to her nearly makes Peeta kick off his shoes and do so. But he forces himself to walk to the door, instructing himself to walk back to his house, walk out of her life. Despite being the victors of the 74th Games, Peeta can easily break all other ties with her, can't he?

Peeta can't bring himself to leave her without a trace, even though every rational part of him screams for him to vindictively leave her without a note, just as she had done. With a sad smile Peeta quietly walks to her nightstand, hastily scrawling a few words that will do absolutely nothing to help her understand why he left. But at least it's something, Peeta thinks as he places it next to her on the pillow.

He loves her; he'll always love her; she'll probably never understand his unconditional love.

Katniss will probably never love him back.

Peeta quietly slips down the stairs, mindful that even though Prim is out with friends, Mrs. Everdeen could still be in the house. His cheeks color slightly as he realizes she could have heard them last night; Prim might have even been in the house, too…

Cautiously he peers into the living area of Katniss' house, and the sleeping Mrs. Everdeen greets him. She's dressed in outside clothes, and Peeta desperately hopes she came home late and hasn't roused all night. Nonetheless he creeps by her, and the front door softly shuts behind him.

In moments he's home, thoughts of trying not to think startled from his mind as he finally notices Olive sitting on his porch. Her eyes are closed as she curls into herself on the blanketed bench, and as he carefully walks to the door he wonders if she is asleep.

Her brown eyes open as soon as Peeta nears her, and he can easily see the anger, frustration, and worry in her eyes as she stares at him. He clears his throat awkwardly, his eyes darting to the door.

"Um, hey."

Her eyes narrow, and she mutters back a, "Hello."

Peeta coughs again, so unsure of what to say to make the slightly hostile tone bleed from her voice. Guilt forces him to continue this awkward encounter with his girlfriend— mentally, he winces at the tone— and Peeta shoves his hands into his jacket pocket.

"How long have you been here?" he asks, and Olive looks away from him, her eyes roving over the houses in Victor's Village. Peeta hopes she didn't see him come from Katniss' home.

"Not long. A few minutes maybe."

A beat.

"Where were you, by the way?"

Peeta drops his gaze to the floorboards of the porch, unable to look at her in fear that the guilt in his eyes would be tauntingly clear.

"Out for a walk," he lies, and he can tell her next question is surely about where he has been the past few weeks, why he's been avoiding her, but he quickly cuts in, "Would you like to come in?"

Olive nods, her fingers drumming against the leg of her jeans.

He opens the door, holding it open for her to walk through. She quietly thanks him when he shuts the door behind them, and Peeta nods, his eyes trained on the stairs. He feels dirty as he stays her presence, dirty because she deserves so much more than him, a boy who can never give her his heart…

"I better take a shower," Peeta says, and he is relieved when Olive offers a ghost of her cheeky smile.

"Want me to join you?"

"No," he says quickly, too quickly, and her lips flatten in a thin line. He immediately feels awful, and lamely finishes, "I have to be in at the bakery early today."

She nods in an understanding manner, her eyes taking a serious glint. Peeta feels a slight prick of fear as he's suddenly afraid of what Olive looks so determined to say. What if she decides he doesn't deserve love either? He knows that he doesn't deserve Olive, not when she's so happy, so eager to love him, so eager for his love. He cheated on her, and at the lingering guilt that still itches, Peeta feels relieved. If he feels guilty, then he must care about her, right? He must have moved on from Katniss.

He ignores the immediate thought that the two have no real connection— he simply feels guilty because what he did was _wrong_.

"I should go shower," Peeta says, ducking his head as he silently curses at his nervousness around Olive. She makes to follow him up the stairs, and Peeta hopes she doesn't catch on to his awkward ness. Olive is many things, and Peeta fervently hopes perceptive she is not.

In his room the ring he had purchased is on his bed, clearly in view from the doorway. Peeta hastily shoves the boxed ring into the drawer of his nightstand just before Olive walks in, and she curiously stares at the drawer he slammed shut. She doesn't comment, and for that Peeta is grateful.

"Be out in a few minutes," Peeta says, and her blond hair shakes as she nods in response. He quietly shuts the door, turns on the water, and thinks of Katniss, wondering if she's waking up now, if she's worried that she's alone. Peeta quickly undresses and darts under the shower nozzle, and he thinks of whether she's read the note, if she's confused, hates him, forgives him, loves him…

His eyes close when he recognizes that the last will never be true.

He shuts off the water minutes later, and he secures a towel around his waist before he opens the bathroom door. Olive waits expectantly on his bed, but her expression surprises Peeta. Her brown eyes are lit with excitement, a smile teases her lips, and the tense determination is gone from her face.

"We can talk later. I'm supposed to meet Chrys in the Town Square now," Olive tells him, bouncing from his bed to press a kiss to his mouth. When she pulls away she grins widely, and before Peeta can offer her anything more than a confused look she's bounding from the room, and moments later he hears the slam of his front door.

Peeta stares at the spot Olive just vacated, and the confusion at her abrupt departure rips at him as he slowly dresses. He's relieved though: he's sure he couldn't deal with a confrontation with her now, not when he's still so torn about Katniss and last night…

He forgets about the problem Olive presents as he paces in his kitchen, staring at the oven in the wall. Peeta half-wishes he still had that release from thinking; he finds himself facing the faint craving of the morphine.

Peeta shakes his head, running his fingers through the still damp locks of his hair as he drums his fingers against his leg.

He wants Katniss. Even after last night— especially after last night— he wants her, much more than he wants the morphine. The note— Peeta regrets leaving the note, he regrets not staying with her so they could greet the day together, finally wake up with each other, wrapped together like they should be—

His pacing stops as he stands next to the wall oven, and Peeta takes a long, deep breath. He's wanted to move on from her for so long, and he left her this morning, against the figurative screams of his heart to stay with her, to admit his love for her, and what if she said it back?

Peeta's eyes widen as he realizes the words she murmured in his ear had sounded so close to those very words, the three words that he's felt for her his whole life, and he immediately knows that leaving her with just a stupid note that doesn't even make _sense_ now that he really thinks about it— it was cruel to scrawl those words, wasn't it?— damages any hope that they can move on from the Games together, that they can fix themselves together, become less broken and haunted with the laughs they share and the meaningful kisses and the love and everything about being together that makes him so happy, so ready to put himself through the masochistic process of trying to earn the love of someone who will never—

But if she meant those words last night, then surely she'll mean them now? Even though the darkness isn't here for her to hide them in, even though it's light outside?

A slow smile spreads across Peeta's face as he realizes that he'll never find out unless he goes back to her, unless he surprises her when she wakes up. He can already see it now: Mrs. Everdeen letting him back in, quietly sneaking up the stairs, climbing in next to Katniss, the note crumbled in his hand…

Peeta is ready to move on— he's prepared to move on from pining after Katniss, instead stepping into a relationship with her, loving her as equally as she surely loves him. And he'll tell her everything; he'll explain about the morphine, even admit to the girls, and dutifully break everything off with Olive as he begs Katniss to understand that what he had with Olive doesn't even compare to what lies between them, now… and Katniss will kiss him with understanding, smiling against his lips as she threads her fingers through his own, the shiny ring glinting off her finger—

With the dream still crisp in his mind Peeta rushes from his house, slamming the door behind him as he hurries to Katniss' home. When he anxiously knocks, a tired Mrs. Everdeen opens the door. Peeta notes her clothes are different, fresher, but he disregards this and quickly asks, "Is Katniss home?"

Mrs. Everdeen frowns as she thinks of the strangely blank face of her daughter, of the way Katniss seemed to drawn into herself, shoulders hunched and eyes flat…

"You just missed her, Peeta," she says, slightly unsure if maybe Peeta's sudden appearance has something to do with her daughter.

Panic rises in Peeta as he wonders if maybe he missed his chance, if after the inner turmoil he's faced concerning Katniss he'll end up alone because of a foolish decision made out of fear of being rejected once more. He's too agitated to even remember that this is his first encounter with Mrs. Everdeen since the morphine. The dream in his mind seems to shake slightly, starting to crumble, but Peeta forces himself to think that there's still hope.

"Do you know where she is?" Peeta asks desperately, and Mrs. Everdeen's eyes narrow a bit.

"I think she went down to the Hob to meet Gale," she starts, and before she finishes Peeta's already racing down the porch, his feet pushing at the ground as he runs to the town. All he can think is that he can't lose her; Peeta just can't let Katniss slip through his fingers—

He's ready, damn it. He's ready, and now he knows she's ready, too— they're ready to love, to be together, everything.

So he runs, runs, runs into town, his feet pounding against the pavement road that leads to town— why the _hell_ is Victor's Village so far from the rest of the town?— and it just doesn't feel as though he's going fast enough; he doesn't know if he'll make it to her before she disappears into the woods.

But his heart feels lighter than it has in a while, and Peeta's happier than he can remember.

Katniss loves him.

Peeta runs because he knows she's waiting for him; Peeta knows Katniss waits at the end, her lips curling into a smile and her gray eyes lighting when she sees him, because they'll be completely honest with each other, loving—

The dirt road is finally in sight, and thoughts of a life with Katniss fill his mind.

Peeta grins; he laughs, even as he thinks of the note. It doesn't matter now; the four inked words are irrelevant. He knows the answer now, anyway.

Katniss would murmur yes, trapping him with her gray eyes before she leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. Then she would whisper something so quietly that he would think that he wasn't meant to hear, but did anyway: _"Always."_

_Would you have stayed?_

Yes, yes, yes, yes, she would have said honestly—

He knows his answer, too.

Always, always, _always_.

* * *

**A/N:** I am so, so sorry about how long it's been. I lost track of time and I've been so fricking busy and loaded down with school…

And it didn't help that my best friend's best friend (sad, I know) is in my creative writing class, and after reading part of a piece I wrote that was kind of in the tune of _Like Crazy_ (angst-wise) she basically told me it wasn't really very good, and it felt as though she thought it was crap and that I was a truly shitty writer concerning serious stuff. So that basically destroyed any confidence writing this had built for me. :P

_But_ I've decided to forget that and just keep writing this fanfic anyway, and I admit that I considered just calling it quits with this story and locking away all ideas I've ever had. But I have not, and I promise to finish this story! _AC _is so much easier to deal with: it's more like an idea-vomit concerning my unhealthy infatuation with PxK. lol :)

The 2nd part to this will be up in (I hope) no later than 2 weeks. I'm going to try to avoid this 1-month wait.

Please, let me know what you think and drop me a review!

*On a side note, I was randomly flicking through _LC_'s followers and stumbled across a fanfic written by **ImBeautifullyHuman **in which _LC_ was mentioned! Squuuuueeeeel! Haven't read the fic yet (skipped to the last chapter as it was titled in all caps :) ), as I figured I should finally update my own. I'm sure it's amazing, though.

Annnnd this chapter is so long, even without my A/N! :)

I do plan on doing those bonuses, and I will post them in a separate story thingie, maybe even in _AC_. I'll keep you posted about that.

—O


	56. Chapter 56

There's a chill in the air, and it stings Peeta's throat as he continues to run. He doesn't mind, though, because he knows Katniss waits for him. It's as if everything is suddenly falling into place; he loves her, she loves him.

Peeta laughs as he races through the streets, and it strikes him that he's truly happy.

He's a block away from the Hob when he slows down, his thoughts haphazardly speeding through his mind in effort to organize into words that will convey every emotion that's swirling around inside of him.

But all he can focus on is that the time for them has finally shifted into place. He can love her openly, freely, without remorse.

And she will love him back.

Peeta rounds the corner, and the Hob is plainly in view across the street. The door quietly slides open, and a smile breaks out across his face as he sees Katniss exit the warehouse. The large grin doesn't waver when Gale walks out behind her, sticking close to Katniss' side.

Peeta takes a step forward, but he pauses when he sees Gale grab Katniss' arm, stopping her from walking away. Peeta can't make out their expressions, but he notices the tension lining their bodies.

Katniss doesn't turn to face Gale, and Peeta can see that the Seam boy says something, something he cannot make out. Peeta steps forward once more, his smile dimming when Katniss finally faces Gale, still avoiding the older boy's gaze. He can see her face now: the stubborn look he's seen on her face so many times is spread across her features now, but Peeta still notices that something seems _off_ about the frown on her lips.

Gale grabs her chin, tilting it roughly to glare up at his dark face. Peeta makes a small noise of protest, and moves forward again, irritated yet again by the Seam boy. Doesn't Gale realize he's ruining everything? He always seems to come between him and Katniss, Peeta angrily thinks, and some of the euphoria from earlier begins to slip away.

_It doesn't matter anyway_, he consoles himself, preparing to step into the wide street. He'll cross the street, glare at Gale, tell Katniss how sorry he is, then she'll kiss him, and they'll face whatever pain the Games has left them with together.

But Peeta freezes when Katniss wrenches her face from Gale's grasp, and her gaze lands on him, pinning him to his stance in the street. She seems to freeze for a moment, too, before she faces Gale once more.

She says something to the Seam boy, and Peeta hopefully thinks it's goodbye. It must be goodbye, Peeta rationalizes, because in mere moments she'll come running over to him, running into his arms and throwing her arms around him so tightly around him he knows that she doesn't want to ever let go—

So Peeta's immensely surprised when she grabs Gale's collar, dragging the lanky boy's face to hers, and kisses him.

At first there's only a blinding surprise flitting through Peeta's mind. He can only stare and stare at the couple, and even as his eyes can clearly see her kiss Gale, it's almost as if his mind simply refuses to accept what he's seeing.

Then of course, the thin, crumbling wall of disbelief finally falls and he's left to face the torrent of pain that comes when his mind does catch up.

She's _kissing_ Gale.

She _kissed_ Gale first.

She's _still_ kissing Gale.

Peeta backs away slowly at first, but when Katniss finally pulls away from mashing her lips against Gale's Peeta suddenly cannot bear to be near them both. So he turns and runs.

He runs the same bright path he had eagerly run minutes ago as he desperately tried to reach her. But the same roads seem darker somehow, and the cool wind burns his throat as he sucks in halting breaths.

It's all he can do to reach his empty house before he breaks down, and tears and choking noises fill the still silence of his kitchen. Peeta slides to the floor, the island's drawer handles digging into his back, but he doesn't care. He barely feels the pain as the tears continue to slide down his face, and sometime later the noises finally quiet.

He doesn't know how long he sits on the cool floor, and he understands that it doesn't really matter. Does anything really matter, now?

He's _alone_. He _suffers_. He suffers alone.

Peeta drags a hand across his face, swiping at the lingering tears.

_No._ He can't afford to think like this, not when he's realized just how close to the edge he's standing. Peeta knows that if the silver steel oven still hid his morphine, relapse would only be a few steps away.

He doesn't want to feel like this; he doesn't want every mean thing she did to _hurt_ this badly. Before he might have continued with the pain of his unrequited love, and maybe even foolishly think it was _good_ to feel a love as strongly as his. But now he's tired. Now he's become so, so tired.

He can't do this anymore: he can't love her and receive only awful, suicidal thoughts to keep him company as she flits around, unsure of what she wants.

Before he might have accepted her indecision, possibly even tried to understand it, but now he just can't. He can't deal with finally having a taste of what he figures is her fucked up version of love and having it thrown back in his face as she bestows it upon someone else— she kissed Gale, knowing he was there, watching.

Peeta isn't angry; not quite. The flash of anger disappeared when the tears finally stopped. He's only resigned, sort of. But so, so tired.

He slowly stands, gripping the counter edge for support. His love for her isn't healthy, he finally realizes, and it's destroying him.

He stares at the counter for a moment longer, before finally deciding to throw away every painting he's done of her. He'll cleanse himself of her, finally move on, and Peeta can't help but note the finality the decision seems to hold.

As he walks away from the kitchen, from the silver steel stove, the pale light from the windows catches his eyes.

The sky is a washed out gray, he sees, and then he realizes it's snowing.

He sadly smiles at this, noting how it's sort of right that it's snowing.

Fall brought Katniss, he thinks, and his mind is drawn to conversations and laughs and smiles and kisses and moans and all the time spent with her.

He climbs the stairs, heading to his studio, and he thinks of how winter takes Katniss away.

Peeta shrugs to no one, shoving his hands into his pockets, and for the first time in a while he thinks he'll actually be okay without her— he has to. Because for the first time in weeks she's finally shown him what she really wants: Gale, not him, and Peeta painfully thinks that it'll never be him, it will _always_ not be him.

Katniss has made it clear that Peeta will never be enough for her— Peeta, who desperately tried to save her in the Games, who couldn't bear to be without her, who would have died so she could have come home—

She's made him feel happy; she's brought him pain and the need to escape with drugs, girls, alcohol; she's given him love; she's lied to him, used him, _pretended_ to love him; she's made him feel worthless, second best—

_I'm not_, Peeta decides. He's not second best, he isn't unworthy, he deserves everything he wants—

"I was in the arena," he breathes aloud, speaking to the walls. "I _won_ the fucking Hunger Games. And you know what?"

He reaches his studio, and he laughs loudly. "I am _good_. I am a _Victor_."

His blue eyes glint with an almost manic light as he studied the room.

He's changed, he knows. He's changed from the innocent baker's son to someone he doesn't recognize most days. The lying, the girls, the drugs, the alcohol— he's changed so much and it's as much his fault as it is hers.

His love for her carried him through his life, the Games, after, and it's the one thing Peeta realizes _hasn't_ changed.

But it's the one thing that absolutely must. He isn't the same; he can't cope with loving her, yet he's stronger than he was before.

Again he thinks of burnt pastries, the bliss of morphine, cravings, different moans and expanses of skin nearly every night…

Peeta Mellark isn't a simple, hopeful baker's son anymore.

Peeta Mellark is no longer _pure_.

The paintings are taken from their places on the walls, on the easels, and discarded in a pile on a floor. Sketches are added to the pile, as are scraps of paper with words hastily scrawled across them.

He still has a long way to go with proper healing, but he knows he'll manage.

He'll finally move past Katniss; he'll finally let her slip away from his thoughts. And he'll be okay, he decides.

He'll be okay, and one day, he'll be even better than he ever was before.

And outside, the snow continues to fall. It falls and falls and falls and blankets District 12. A girl that seen and suffered more horrors than she should have watches the snow briefly, before her gaze is drawn to the house where the blond boy lives. Her gray eyes watch the house alertly, and thoughts she doesn't really want to address drift through her mind as insistently as the falling snow.

She wonders if he's watching the snow too, and thinking of their times together.

Hours later she sees Olive practically dance up to his front door, snow still falling, and sees him open the door, bathing the couple in the warm light from his house. She curiously watches all of this, and when he hugs Olive she realizes he isn't thinking of her at all.

For once she knows exactly why this thought hurts, and as she watches them disappear into his home she crumples the little note he had left her earlier that day.

_Always_, she would have whispered, if he had asked.

But he hadn't asked, and he would never know. And that's good, she tells herself, turning away from the window, because _always_ is terrifying. Could she have opened herself up to him completely, let him in fully for the rest of their lives?

"Never," she says aloud, walking away from the front room.

The snow continues to fall, and Katniss absently thinks it's the first day of winter.

* * *

**A/N:** Guess who's still writing this. (ME.)

Yep, long absence. Yep, finally wrote this chapter. Slightly unhappy with it, but thought it necessary. Lil o' me also discovered polls. So I posted one in my profile, so check it out!

Now I believe this starts the Catching Fire world, if I do continue this. I'm still a little bit on the fence on how far I carry this out, and didn't really want to post this until I knew for certain. But after sifting through all of my personal problems and shit, becoming obsessed with _Doctor Who_, and finally cranking this chapter out, I just went, "What the hell! Post it!"

So please, check out the poll. I think I may post two.

Let me know your thoughts on this! And so sorry for the wait!

-O


	57. Interlude

**A/N:** I know winter starts in late December and that's generally when it snows (for me anyway), but I figure, eh, what the hell. This is in the future, North America is pretty much a mess, it starts snowing in November sometimes― I can make late November the beginning of winter if I want to. So yeah, time has now moved forward a couple of weeks, maybe. I'm guessing the victory tour starts in January? So we're mid-December. Also, I consider this a brief interlude, kind of, because me being a dumbass I didn't post the poll on my profile and it's very important you vote. The future of _Like Crazy_ kinda depends on it. So go vote, and enjoy this chapter if you wish! It probably isn't what anyone was expecting, or wants. But I think it's important. Erm, my first time writing this kind of stuff, a bit more graphic but not _too_ graphic. Also, if most people want _Like Crazy_ to end… this is a pretty shitty epilogue... just saying. :3 **REVIEW (please), **even to let me know how much you hated this chapter. But not too much, because I think then I would cry. :-/

* * *

He's startled awake by the shrill ringing of the cordless Capitol phone he hardly uses, and as his eyes gradually force themselves open he groans, groggily trying to figure out why the fuck he hadn't removed the phone from his room earlier.

Beside him a delicate, similar moan sounds, and the warm, soft body plastered to his side rolls away from him.

For a moment he's confused, his mind still trying to reboot after the late night of laughing and talking and slowly moving on. Peeta blinks repeatedly, and quickly the long strands of hair on his pillow shift from black to blond and the exposed expanses of skin are made lighter and paler by the sunlight streaming in the window.

_Olive_, he recognizes, and Peeta doesn't really notice the absence of the destructive disappointment her presence used to always bring him. Instead he laughs when she shoves her face into one of the pillows, groaning about the loud noise of the phone.

Olive blindly reaches for him, her back to him as her fingers curl in effort to smack him without ever lifting her face from the pillow.

"Peeta."

"Yes, lovely?" he snickers, and the shrill beeps of the phone never cease as he scoots closer to her on the bed.

"The phone. Get―the―fucking―phone."

Peeta laughs again, and when he doesn't budge she finally rolls over, pressing the sheets to herself as she menacingly faces him. As soon as their eyes meet Peeta steals a quick kiss, pressing his lips to her fading scowl, and he rolls away before she can do anything more than make a weak sound of protest.

Almost absently he thinks of someone else that had perfected the scowl, but the thought slips from his mind as he finally answers the phone.

"Hello?" he says, a little unsurely, because he's suddenly remembered why the phone ringing had seemed so strange. No one called him. No one _needed_ to call him. Haymitch always came by whenever he felt like it, and Katniss…

And actually, besides his neighbors, no one really _could_ call him, even if they wanted to reach him. Electricity usually wasn't wasted on the rudimentary phones some people had in their homes.

"Peeta!" At the ecstatic shriek of his name, Peeta laughs, immediately recognizing his stylist's normally subdued voice.

"Portia," he greets, and when she answers with another hello he can hear more voices in the background, and he assumes it's his prep team.

His guess is confirmed when Portia adds, "And the team says hello, too, Peeta!"

Peeta glances back to Olive, and he places his hand over the mouthpiece at her questioning gaze. When he mouths, '_My stylist_,' her eyes widen and she giggles before nodding. He listens to Portia's chatter almost absently, half-noting the large green eggs she talked about at a wild party with a pink and yellow theme, for he's watching Olive slip from his bed, a thin white sheet barely hiding her body.

Olive sees him watching her, and she winks and nods toward the bathroom door. Peeta grins at this, and he nods back, preparing to tell Portia he'll call her back, but just as he focuses on the conversation again his stylist is casually saying, "… and don't forget, Peeta, that we'll be there in a few weeks. Two, is it? Anyway, we'll be back to prep you for the Victory Tour, and I can't wait to hear all the details about you and Katniss!"

And Peeta freezes. He can almost hear the pout in her voice as she continues, "I know Cinna's kept up with Katniss, but he refuses to tell me anything! And since you never call…"

Portia continues to prattle on, and Peeta is stuck.

He'd forgotten that the Capitol would never let him escape their claws; Peeta can't believe he actually _forgot_. His heart starts racing, and he can almost feel the walls of the arena closing in on him, the stickiness of mud coating his body; he can smell blood, his blood, Katniss' blood, Cato's blood— so much blood…

And of course, his mind fills with Katniss. They can no longer avoid each other, can they? Their uneasy, unspoken agreement to stay out of each other's way will have to end, and they'll have to pretend to be in love all over again.

Peeta shuts his eyes and stutters out an apology to Portia, claiming he really has to go. After he presses the red button he stares at his bed, his blue eyes caught on the rumpled sheets. He can hear the shower start in the bathroom, but his mind quickly disregards this fact, instead sliding back to the phone call.

It just isn't _fair_.

He was doing it, really— he was moving on with his life, moving on with Olive, slowly falling out of love—

And Peeta's terrified that seeing Katniss again, _pretending_ to be in love, will reawaken all of those feelings, and he can't say he's looking forward to her stomping on his heart again. Peeta wonders if he'll always feel this way, if Katniss will always manage to put him on the path of self-destruction.

He thinks of the months spent in darkness, and Peeta just knows that he can't go back to that. He wryly thinks that this inner torment, pain, over having to pretend to love someone must have been a pain in the ass for Katniss.

"Peeta?"

A small smile finds its way onto Peeta's face as he turns toward the bathroom door, and his smile widens when he notices she lost the sheet. His gaze roves over her exposed body, trailing across her smooth, pale skin.

"Join me?" she asks, smirking a bit as she leans against the doorway. Peeta lets out a low growl as his gaze appreciatively meets hers, and her smirk widens.

"Give me a second," he says, his voice low, and he tosses the phone uncaringly onto the sheets, desperate to pretend that everything is all right. Olive pouts as she slowly saunters to him, swinging her hips.

"I don't know if I can wait that long, Peeta," she murmurs, stopping a few feet in front of him, and with one last inarticulate noise Peeta reaches for her. She dances away from him, grinning as she backs away toward the bathroom.

"Come here," Peeta says, quickly moving after her, and she shrieks with delight as she moves toward the shower. Already he can feel his mindset shifting; Peeta can feel the pain lingering on the fringes of his mind, and it's a pain he recognizes from those months after the Games.

Olive helps him shed his boxers, and he fucks her as the warm water runs down their bodies, making their skin dizzyingly slick as he pushes into her, pressing her into the tile wall. She's moaning his name, he knows, he should mutter hers back, but all he can manage are low grunts and shuddering breaths as his mind drifts away from this pleasure-filled moment.

Olive can only think of him; Peeta can only think of the phone call, the Capitol, the Games, blood, pain, hurt, heartache, cheese buns, paintings, gray eyes—

Peeta thinks and thinks and tries to _feel_ instead: he wants to feel Olive's soft skin bruising under his fingertips; he _needs_ to feel her body clenched around him, her legs around his waist, her mouth under his, her fingers in his hair, ghosting across his wet skin—

He wants to feel all of it, experience and enjoy solely her…

But he can't. Instead his mind is trapped in the arena, in his bed, a different voice releasing lower moans in his ear; a different, thinner, duskier set of legs around his hips as he thrust forward, over and over and _over_; a different mouth claiming his, trailing across his chest, tracing the faint scar on his thigh as it moved lower…

He can feel Olive steadily moving toward the precipice that hangs over unknown bliss; he moves toward it himself.

Yet she thinks only of him, and he cannot think of only her.

Maybe it's always been that way: maybe since he threw himself back into their relationship a ghost has always hovered in their bed, their conversations, their lives— maybe. And maybe this entire time Peeta had just been fooling himself about moving on— maybe he'd simply gotten better at ignoring the ghost.

He doesn't know.

All he knows is that soon he'll be back in the Games, back fighting for his life in the Capitol by pretending to be in love. Peeta knows he's in danger again; Peeta knows he's in danger of losing himself to Katniss again, and he isn't sure if now he's strong enough to truly resist.

But he's good at pretending, so Peeta pretends that while he fucks Olive in his shower his thoughts lie completely with the blond girl; he pretends he still doesn't love Katniss just a _tiny_ bit.

He pretends he's definitely going to be okay.

But as he fucks Olive under the stream of hot water he cannot pretend that when he finally falls over the precipice it's Olive's name he desperately wants to moan.

Peeta cannot pretend this, and so even as Olive gives an ecstatic shout he only grunts, forcing himself to say nothing because he's afraid the wrong name will slip out.

When Olive leaves hours later, a sated grin nearly breaking her face, Peeta allows himself to finally stop pretending. So he sits on his smoothed out bed sheets and thinks of Katniss, the star-crossed lovers from the Games, the nights spent wrapped around her…

He thinks of all this and sometimes reminds himself of Olive; Peeta sits on his made-up bed and wonders if all the effort he's put into moving on is going to unravel once he's back with Katniss on the Victory Tour.

Peeta promises that he won't let himself unravel; Peeta cries a bit as he's afraid he'll end up breaking that promise.

* * *

**A/N:** Poor Olive. Feel free to point out any mistakes, because I realllly wanted to get this up so I may have missed a few!


End file.
